


Way Back Home

by acollectionofdaydreams



Series: The Hannah Montana AU [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Celebrity AU, Eliot Goes to Indiana, Friends to Lovers, Hannah Montana AU, M/M, Yes Really, famous eliot, rockstar eliot, soft country boy quentin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22310527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acollectionofdaydreams/pseuds/acollectionofdaydreams
Summary: After Eliot's rockstar alter ego 'Hale' lands himself in hot water, he's forced to lie low in his small Indiana hometown to save his public image from the tabloids. There's a reporter tailing him, a town to save, and a lot of people he hasn't seen in a very long time suddenly back in his life. He wants to get back to LA and his life as Hale as quickly as possible, but he hasn't planned on possibly finding a few good reasons for Eliot to stay.Yes, this is a Hannah Montana The Movie AU. Yes, I'm serious.
Relationships: Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: The Hannah Montana AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848802
Comments: 23
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no defense for myself. I'm just asking you to trust that I am 100% not fucking with you right now.

Screaming. That’s all Eliot could hear as he and Margo pushed through the crowd gathered around the venue. One girl hit him on the head with a giant cardboard sign, and he yelped. Margo turned around and scoffed at him.

“Come on, we’re late!” she said, grabbing his hand.

She gave his arm a forceful tug as she stormed her way through the rest of the crowd and right up to the ticket box office. The woman sitting at the desk looked somewhere between bored and like she’d given up on the concept of ever feeling joy again in this life. Something Eliot would be able to relate to if he wasn’t so fucking stressed at the exact moment. She looked up at him and Margo with a tired expression.

“Sorry, the show is completely sold out,” she said, as if she’d repeated the same phrase a million times that day.

Margo leaned against the window and adopted a polite voice as she said, “No, you don’t understand. Our names are on the list, and we have to get in there right now.”

The woman sighed, “Unless your name is Hale, you’re not getting into this show without a ticket, and our tickets are all sold out. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Margo banged her fist against the window, making the lady jump. Eliot grabbed her arm and said, “Bambi!”

“There won’t BE a show if you don’t let us in!” she yelled.

Eliot glanced behind the box office and saw a security guard approaching. He smiled and waved them off as he grabbed Margo’s arm and dragged her away from the window. She groaned in the general direction of the woman as he tugged her off to the sidewalk away from the crowd.

Turning to Eliot, she asked, “What are we going to do? You go on stage in half an hour!”

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket as he said, “I don’t know, let me just call…” 

He trailed off as Margo quickly tapped his arm. He paused to look at her, and she smiled and glanced pointedly to the side entrance of the venue, where an unattended golf cart was sitting. He followed her gaze and said, “Margo, no.”

She grinned up at him. “Margo, yes.”

Before he could stop her, she ran over to the golf cart, hopped into the driver’s seat, and turned the key. He stared and sighed in exasperation as she revved the engine. 

“Come on, El,” she called, “live a little!”

He looked down at his phone then back at the long line of screaming fans covering the main entrance. They really were running out of time. He looked back at Margo, and she revved the engine again. With a groan, he shoved his phone into his pocket and jogged over to join her in the passenger seat. She cheered and, as soon as he sat down, slammed her foot down on the gas.

Eliot had to hold on for dear life as Margo flew right into the loading dock, past the equipment, and took a sharp turn down a long hallway. Obviously, it only took a few seconds for someone to notice them.

“Hey! You can’t be back here!” they called.

“Shit, go!” Eliot said.

Margo replied, “Hold on.”

She shifted the golf cart into a higher gear, and Eliot yelled as she slammed her foot down. He looked behind them and there were now no less than five security guards trailing them. 

“Do you know where you’re going?!” he asked her.

In lieu of an answer, she took another sharp turn which flung Eliot into her side. 

“Margo!” he exclaimed.

She only cackled in response as she continued her joy ride through the backstage corridors. Eliot was starting to wonder who designed this place. It was like a maze of concrete and white walls with no clear end in sight. Finally, just as more security guards started to turn the corner up ahead of them, Henry Fogg poked his head out of a door to their right. Margo slammed her foot down on the brake, bringing them to a screeching halt, and Eliot braced himself on the dashboard so that he didn’t fall right out.

“What the fuck?!” he yelled.

Guards immediately surrounded them, one grabbing each of them by the arms, and Fogg sighed.

“Let them go,” he said. “They’re with me.”

The guards backed away from them but still watched warily as Fogg ushered them inside the dressing room. As soon as he shut the door, he turned around to look at them.

“What in God’s name were you doing?” he asked.

Eliot was already at his mirror, throwing around makeup brushes and accessories as Margo flipped through his wardrobe on the rack beside him.

“We got stuck outside,” he said over his shoulder.

“And I got us in,” Margo finished for him unapologetically.

Fogg sighed as he turned his head to look at the clock. He said, “Well, I suggest you get ready, because you need to be on stage in fifteen minutes.”

Margo turned around and walked over to him. She placed one hand on his back as she ushered him towards the door, using the other to turn the handle.

“He’ll be ready,” she promised. “You just go do whatever it is you do.”

Eliot smiled to himself as he dabbed the concealer on his cheeks and under his eyes. Fifteen minutes wasn’t his preferred allotted time to get ready before a show, but it wasn’t the worst he’d done either.

As soon as he finished with his face, he turned around and accepted the hanger Margo was holding out for him. He hurriedly changed into the clothes he’d picked out for the night, looking into the mirror with a satisfied smile as he slipped on the suit jacket over his button up and tight black skinny jeans. He looked well put together with just this side of rock and roll edge, as was the Hale brand. He reached back and pulled the hair band out of his bun, letting his messy curls fall to his shoulders. Reaching for the mousse on the desk, he quickly ran his hands through it to make it look less like it had been up all day before flipping it back and over to one side. Then, he picked up his thin, wire-framed, non-prescription glasses and slid them onto his face. Just like that, he was no longer Eliot Waugh. 

A knock on the door rang through the room, and someone called, “Hale! You’re on in five!”

“Coming!” he called.

He spun around to face Margo and asked, “How do I look?”

She slowly looked him up and down before meeting his eyes with a grin.

“Like a rockstar,” she said.

He flashed her a bright smile and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.

“Go time, then!” he said.

As soon as he opened the door, the woman waiting on the other side motioned for him to follow her and took off at a quick pace, talking into her headset. He glanced over his shoulder at Margo as he followed, and she gave him a thumbs up. 

“Break a leg!” she called.

He gave her a quick smile before turning his attention back to the woman guiding him, lest he walk into a wall or something seconds before going on stage. She led him through a series of doors, and he ducked through the last one that went underneath the main stage. He really was too tall to be crawling through a five foot space as often as he did.

The crowd above him was loud, and they were repeatedly chanting his name. Well, Hale’s name. Same difference most days. He stepped up and onto the circular platform where someone was shining a flashlight for him. He closed his eyes and shook out his hands at his sides as the crew’s voices faded around him. 

The energy in the room right before a show was one of his favorite parts of the whole thing. He let himself really feel it vibrate around him, like he did every time. As the pre-show nerves ran through him, he let them take up every inch of his awareness, erasing anything that wasn’t about being present in that very moment.

The platform began to rise, and he pushed all traces of Eliot out of his mind. When he opened his eyes again, he was face to face with hundreds of bright lights and screams so loud that he couldn’t think of anything else. The spotlight focused on him, and he smiled as he exhaled. The opening notes of his most popular single filled the room, and the noise of the crowd swelled around him.

Time for Hale to shine.

It turned out to be a good show. Excellent, even. The hype around his new album was rising steadily, which was exactly why his manager had booked the event for him. He’d still have performed anyways, but it was nice to know people were actually liking what he was doing.

A week later, the wave he was riding led Eliot to be standing on a beach in Malibu surrounded by cameras and fake palm trees. While concerts were his favorite part of the gig, it wasn’t the only thing he had to do. Sometimes, when a single did well, he got to film a music video for it. That wasn’t something he particularly loved. He enjoyed the creative process of it all, but the reality of the shoots was often tedious.

For the fifth time on the final scene they were filming that day, the director called, “Cut!”

He deflated as the make-up crew ran forward and started dabbing at his cheeks and forehead. 

“That’s a wrap for today,” the director said.

“Thank God,” Eliot muttered.

He brushed off the people doing his make-up and turned to go back to his tent, which was his makeshift dressing room for the day. As soon as he’d made it into the protection of the shade, he pulled the curtain shut and collapsed into his chair in front of the mirror. He immediately reached for his hair band on the table. It was hot outside, and he was more than ready to get the sticky curls off of the back of his neck. Just as his hand closed around it though, he heard the curtain behind him open. He jumped and spun around.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!”

A man Eliot didn’t recognize was hovering at the entrance of the tent. He was a short man, and his borderline creepy smile made him look like he belonged on a car lot chasing down unsuspecting customers to give them a sales pitch. He also had a camera in his hand, which made Eliot sit up and look at him warily.

“What exactly are you doing here then?” he asked suspiciously.

The man walked towards Eliot and reached out his hand. He said, “My daughters are huge fans, so I was hoping I could get a photo with you for them. It’ll only take a moment?”

Just then, the curtain flung open again to reveal Eliot’s publicist standing behind it.

“Don’t talk to him, Hale,” she said.

Eliot looked at her with a raised eyebrow. 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he replied.

The man looked between them and opened his mouth to give her his speech, but she cut him off.

“I know who you are,” she said. “Tick Pickwick, known sleazebag reporter who has written the infamous exposés that have ended at least three careers.” She held out her hand to him and smiled with a faux politeness, “Jane Chatwin, Hale’s publicist.”

Eliot sat back in his chair with a satisfied smirk as he stared the man down. He wasn’t the first reporter to get a little too close to Eliot, and he wouldn’t be the last. Eliot still took joy in watching Jane tell them off though.

“I think that description is a little inflammatory,” Tick protested. “If you would just let me ask Hale a few questions, I’m sure I could make it worth your while.”

Jane wrapped her hand around his arm in a tight grip and turned him around towards the exit.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said.

He continued to protest as she manhandled him through the curtain and back out onto the beach. Eliot laughed to himself as he listened to the man give his final arguments before slipping away. Reporters were all the same. Looking for their big scoop to make headlines for a few days before some other celebrity did something worth reporting on. It was a vicious cycle. Eliot had been lucky to have a trustworthy team surrounding him that kept him out of it for the most part.

Jane slipped back into the tent with a huff and asked, “Did he see anything?”

“No,” Eliot answered.

He reached for a make-up wipe and started removing the caked on concealer.

“Good,” she said. “We’ve got to be careful with the likes of him creeping around.”

Eliot hummed his agreement as he pulled his hair out of his face and back into his trademark Eliot Waugh bun for the days when he couldn’t style his hair in the way he preferred. The long hair was very rockstar of him, but he preferred to keep it out of his face in his own time. It also helped to keep a clear separation of the Eliot and Hale images, which was important. The sooner he looked like himself though, the sooner he could get out of here and back to his apartment for a scheduled movie night with Margo. 

“So, I have some news for you,” Jane said behind him.

“Oh?” he asked.

He slipped his glasses off before turning around to face her.

“Selena Gomez dropped out of her VMA’s performance this weekend in New York, and you’ve been asked to take her place,” she said.

Eliot felt his mouth fall open. He’d performed at a few awards shows but never something as big as the VMA’s. This would be huge for him right before his new album was set to drop.

“Oh my God, yes!” he said.

She smiled at him.

“Perfect,” she said, “I’ll confirm with Henry, and we’ll let them know.”

He laughed to himself in disbelief as she typed away on her phone. Holy shit. He had to go shopping.

And so the next day, he was hurrying down Rodeo Drive, trying to dodge any prying eyes with his dark sunglasses and a hood up over his head. Going out on his own in broad daylight was always a whole ordeal when he was in his Hale attire. He hadn’t had a choice though. He couldn’t exactly walk into Alexander McQueen dressed as Eliot without having to tell the stylist waiting for him way too much career-ending information. 

He made it undetected though and sighed in relief as he stepped inside the store and switched his sunglasses for Hale’s wired frames. He shook his hair out as he lowered his hood and looked up to see a salesperson waiting for him.

“Hello Hale,” she smiled at him politely. “We’ll get you in right this way.”

She gestured towards a fitting room at the back of the store, and he smiled at her in thanks. There was a cup of tea waiting for him next to a plush red chair. He sat down and took a sip, noting that it was exactly the right temperature. He didn’t have to wait long before a stylist rounded the corner to greet him. It was always amazing how differently the world responded to him when he was dressed as Hale. Eliot would have been waiting for God knows how long to be seen by anyone in a place like this, and he definitely wouldn’t have had refreshments waiting for him.

He greeted the woman with a polite wave. He’d worked with her before, and it was nice to see a familiar face.

“What do you have for me today, Julia?” he asked.

She smiled at him and said, “A look that you’ll find perfect for the VMA’s, I hope.”

“I don’t think you could disappoint me if you tried,” he said, and she gave him a blushing smile in reply.

He liked laying on the charm a bit every now and then. It kept people invested in him. For Hale to work, he had to be surrounded by invested people. Julia was also genuinely nice though, so it was even easier for him to flash her a bright smile as she pulled a metal rack around the corner and into the room for him to look at. 

His Hale look usually involved slacks or black denim paired with a neat button up and a suit jacket detailed for the event in question. This outfit was no exception, and he stood to marvel over it. 

Julia had paired cuffed, fitted black jeans with studs around the front pockets with a crisp white button up and a black suit jacket with silver embroidered filigree on the front. It was exactly his aesthetic, and it would stand out nicely with the stage lights on him.

“What do you think?” she asked, sounding a little nervous.

He turned to her and said, “You are a goddess. It’s perfect.”

She exhaled and gave him a dimpled smile. 

“Great,” she said. “Now, let’s do a quick fitting, and you can be on your way. I’m sure you have more important things to do today.”

He said, “Nothing is more important than you, dear.”

She rolled her eyes at him playfully and motioned for him to follow her over to the mirrors. 

He did actually have one incredibly important thing to do that day. It was Margo’s birthday, and he was cutting it close by fitting this appointment in right before the party. 

He hadn’t actually gotten her present yet either, and that was going to be his main priority as soon as he got done there. He’d put it off for the last minute, like he did most things. He’d been busy though, in his defense. Promoting a new album was a hell of a task, and Fogg had even scheduled a few shows for him over the last week. It was all important to his success, he knew. He was still exhausted though. 

“There, you’re all set,” Julia said.

He thanked her again and stepped off the platform to wander back into the main area of the store. He figured he might as well look around while he was there. His Bambi had expensive tastes, and he took pleasure in spoiling her whenever he got the chance. So, he gravitated over to the jewelry counter and leaned in to get a closer look at the necklaces.

A salesman appeared literally out of nowhere behind the counter and asked, “Are you shopping for someone special?”

Eliot looked up and met him with a guarded smile. The stylists in high end places like this could be trusted, but the salespeople were always one piece of celebrity gossip away from selling their souls to the first reporter they could find. He could just tell by the look on this one’s face that he was hoping to get Eliot to say something about a girlfriend or boyfriend that he could make a buck off of. 

“It’s my mother’s birthday,” he lied coolly.

Hale’s family life was very private, but it was always safe to throw out a parent as an excuse. Everyone had parents, so it wasn’t exactly giving away the farm. Eliot may not speak to his own parents, but there was no harm in letting the world think that Hale did.

The salesman droned on, and Eliot tuned him out as he skimmed his gaze along the glittering pieces below him. He stopped though as his eyes settled on a ruby necklace cut in the shape of a crown, with little diamonds along the top.

“I’ll take this one,” he said, cutting the man off.

“Excellent choice,” the man said, “and you’re lucky, because we only have one left.”

He reached inside the glass cabinet and pulled the necklace out. Eliot watched as he carefully wrapped it and followed him over to the counter. Just as Eliot was pulling out his wallet to pay for the perfect birthday present and get out of the store at a reasonable time, a woman cleared her throat over his shoulder.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but was that the last necklace?”

He turned around and looked down to see a petite woman with sandy blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail standing behind him. She was wearing black from head to toe with some kind of harness on over her shirt that looked more fitting for the bedroom than Rodeo Drive, in his opinion. He was used to seeing weird things in LA, but somehow BDSM gear in broad daylight still got his attention. This mystery woman was pulling it off though. Maybe it was the arrogant way in which she held herself.

“Yes, ma’am,” the man behind the counter said, “but I’m sure you’ll love our other ruby pieces if you’ll just give me a moment.”

“No,” she said. “I was going to buy that one.”

Eliot’s patience was running thin, so he turned around to face her fully.

“Look,” he said, “normally I’d just give it to you, but it’s a gift for my mother.”

She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Is that supposed to make me care?” she asked bluntly. She leaned around him to the salesman. “I’ll double whatever he’s tipping you.”

Eliot hadn’t actually been planning on tipping the man at all, considering he’d been of very little help. His brow furrowed as he stared at her.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he asked.

She laughed as she looked at him, almost seeming impressed.

“So, the mysterious Hale has a backbone,” she surmised.

He exhaled and looked to the side. He really didn’t have time for this. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m buying the necklace,” he said.

He turned around and handed the man his credit card. Just to spite her, he also handed him a one hundred dollar bill as a tip. He couldn’t exactly walk out without giving him something now, which was another reason this bitchy little interruption was now going on his shit list. He’d have to find out her name later. She was surely somewhat important if she knew his name well enough to sass him with it. 

He took his credit card back from the man and gave him a cursory nod as he accepted his bag with the necklace inside. Without looking back at the woman, he turned and headed for the door.

“You’re going to regret that,” she said.

He rolled his eyes as he pulled up his hood and reached for his sunglasses. 

“Have a nice day!” he called over his shoulder, as he opened the door and disappeared into the crowd on the street outside. 

He was barely paying attention as he made his way back to the car he knew was waiting for him, so he almost missed the flash of a camera a few feet ahead. It happened a second time though, and he turned to look. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled.

It was that reporter from the beach. Tick or Rick or whatever. He picked up his pace until he reached his car and hurried into the back of it.

“We’ve got a pap,” he told the driver.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

Eliot glanced over his shoulder and groaned as he saw the reporter hop into his own car and pull out onto the road behind them. Normally, he’d just disappear into his car and they’d drive around until the paparazzi got bored and left for an easier target. He didn’t have time for that tonight though because he needed to get to Margo’s party. The problem was, he couldn’t get out of this car as Eliot without tipping off the reporter, but he also couldn’t show up to the club she’d booked as Hale. So, he was trapped.

His driver did his best to lose the man. They drove circles around the club, but the car followed them down every turn. Eliot’s phone rang in his lap, and he answered it to a disgruntled Margo.

“Where are you?!” she asked.

“I’m literally right outside trying to lose a reporter,” he told her, irritation lacing his voice. “The motherfucker won’t give up.”

“Well, hurry up!” she demanded.

He grumbled, “I’m trying.”

It took a few moments, but finally a large bus cut the reporter off and got between their cars.

He wouldn’t have time to change into his normal clothes before the reporter caught up again, but this might be his only chance to get out of the car without being followed. It was a compromise he was going to have to make.

“Let me out now,” he said urgently.

His driver pulled over to the curb, and Eliot rushed out of the backseat. He practically sprinted around the corner until he’d made it to the entrance of the club. He looked over his shoulder to make sure that the coast was clear before he opened the door.

Unfortunately, as soon as he stepped inside, he was met with the consequences of his decision. A group of people in the corner spotted him and gasped.

“Oh my God, it’s Hale!” one of them yelled.

Suddenly, the whole room was looking his way, including Margo. He locked eyes with her and gave her a tentative smile and a wave. The look he got in return was not kind. Before he could make his way to her though, he found himself swarmed. 

“Hale! Could you take a selfie with me?”

“Hale, I love your music!”

“When is your new album coming out?”

“Oh my God, Hale!”

He could barely think for the amount of people suddenly clamoring for his attention. Thankfully, a security guard at the club intervened and herded the group away from him. It didn’t stop the fray though. Now that he had their attention, half the club was chanting for him to sing. He skimmed the crowd and found Margo again. She was glaring at him with a look that could kill.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed.

She rolled her eyes and stormed off towards the bar. 

He looked back to the crowd in front of him. There wasn’t much choice for him now unless he wanted to look like an asshole. When an employee at the club asked if he wanted to perform, he had to say yes.

As he was immediately ushered onstage, the crowd began to cheer. He picked up a guitar someone handed to him and stared out into the open space. He just barely saw Margo walking out the front door before she disappeared.

Shit, he was in so much trouble.

He couldn’t think about that though. So, he put on his happiest Hale smile, and started strumming the chords of his new single.

It was a disastrous night, all in all. He played a short set before hurrying out of the club’s back entrance and calling for his driver. He tried to call Margo the whole way home, but her phone went straight to voicemail. He knew she was pissed. He’d entirely ruined her birthday by showing up as Hale after all. He really hadn’t had a choice, but he knew she wouldn’t see it that way.

He spent a restless night staring at the ceiling once he got home.

The following day, he had a meeting with both his manager and his publicist to go over the itinerary for New York. He had to stow his personal drama for the morning at least and get this over with. He could go grovel with Margo afterwards.

When he arrived at his manager’s office though, he was met with much less enthusiasm than he expected. Fogg simply stared at him as he sat down in the empty chair in front of his desk. Jane was sitting in the other one and hadn’t met his eyes yet.

Not sure how to break the tension, he asked, “Why do both of you look like someone pissed in your Cheerios?”

Jane sighed, and Fogg placed his elbows on the desk, bringing his hands up to his chin in a prayer position.

“I’m guessing you haven’t checked Twitter then,” he said.

Eliot frowned.

“No, why?” he asked.

Fogg simply gestured in his direction for him to go ahead, so with a stomach suddenly full of anxious nerves, he fished his phone out of his pocket and opened up the app. His heart sank as he saw not one, but two, trending topics about him.

‘ _Hale gives a surprise performance in LA club!_ ’

and

‘ _Marina Andrieski claims rockstar Hale verbally assaulted her in Rodeo Drive store_ ’

He looked up at Fogg.

“Who the hell is Marina?” he asked.

Jane piped up then.

“Marina Andrieski is a very influential Instagram model,” she said, her voice tightly constrained, “and because you’ve pissed her off, she’s sent the hellfire of her five million followers at you online.”

Okay, well, Eliot had definitely not known she was five million followers famous. 

“So, what now?” he asked.

“Now,” Fogg said, bringing his attention back to him, “you are going to lie low until this all blows over. You cannot make this worse, Eliot. Your reputation isn’t strong enough for this kind of scandal.”

He scoffed, “Okay, but I’m performing at the VMA’s in two days. That’s not exactly lying low.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jane agreed, “which is why we’re dropping out of the VMA’s.”

“What?!” he asked.

He looked between her and Fogg. This could not be happening.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. “Over some bitchy Instagram model?!”

Fogg said, “She is not just some bitchy Instagram model. The Andrieski’s are a very old and powerful Hollywood family, and we’ve already received a letter from them. They will ruin your career if you don’t make this go away, Eliot.”

He sputtered as he looked around the room. This was unbelievable. He was about to give up the most important performance of his life to date, and it was all because he’d had a minor argument over a necklace with apparently exactly the wrong person. He felt like he could scream.

“I’m really sorry,” Jane said. “I know this show was important for you, but we both agree that taking some time out of the limelight is the only way forward now.”

“Okay,” he said, trying to mentally grapple with it all. “So, what, I just take a long weekend? Let the storm blow through?”

Fogg said, “Well, that might work if it were only this one incident. Your recent behavior has left a lot to be desired though. That impromptu concert you did at your friend’s birthday party could have been a disaster.”

“But it wasn’t,” he protested.

“But it could have been,” Fogg argued.

He said, “That was a mistake though. There was a reporter following me, and…”

Fogg slammed his hand down on the desk, and Eliot shut up.

“We can’t afford mistakes!” he snapped.

Eliot set his shoulders back and exhaled. He fixed his manager with a hard glare.

“What are you suggesting then?” he asked. 

Jane said, “Get on a plane and go somewhere no one will follow you. I know the timing isn’t ideal, but I think two weeks away is the best possible solution to this situation.”

He dug his nails into his hands and closed his eyes. He absolutely did not need this right now. Yet, he wasn’t really in a place to go against the advice of the two people who controlled his entire life.

In a defeated voice, he asked, “Where do you suggest I go?”

She asked, “Don’t you have some family in Indiana?”

“No,” he said sharply.

He got up from his chair and stormed out of the office, ignoring their calls for him to wait. That was the final straw to break his tether to what remained of his dwindling sanity. He paced to the end of the hallway and then turned on his heels to pace back to the opposite side. He couldn’t go back home. It just wasn’t an option. He hadn’t been back to the small town of Fairmount, Indiana since he’d put the place in his rearview mirror at sixteen years old.

It was a tiny town full of hicks and small minded people who had done nothing but make his life hell growing up. 

To the town’s current credit, he’d heard through the grapevine that his parents and his brothers had all moved away from their old family farm. All four of them were now settled somewhere in Ohio, leaving only Eliot’s grandmother and some distant relatives in their hometown. It was just as well, he figured, but even that hadn’t been enough to convince him that going back was appealing in any way. He had his friends and his life here as Hale, and there was no place for Indiana in his world.

That wasn’t going to change now because of some petty celebrity drama. 

He steeled himself and turned to walk back into Fogg’s office.

“I’m not going to Indiana,” he said, “but I’ll disappear for two weeks if you think it’s the only option. I’ll go to San Francisco or something.”

Fogg huffed, clearly irritated. He said, “The paparazzi will find you in less than 24 hours in San Francisco.”

Eliot wasn’t particularly in love with the city of San Francisco, but he was very committed to holding onto any shred of control he could get in this situation that was quickly spiralling out of his grasp. So, he stubbornly said, “I don’t care. I’m going.”

Jane opened her mouth to argue, but Fogg held up his hand and stopped her.

“Fine,” he said, “you can go to San Francisco. Someone will pick you up and take you to your jet at 6am tomorrow morning, so I suggest you go home and pack immediately.”

“Fine,” he said.

He left the office in a huff, and his sour mood followed him through the evening as he threw clothes into his bag. He was going to have to be Hale on the way to the airport and when he got to his destination, in case someone tracked his flight and saw Eliot step out of the plane Hale had gotten on. So, he set out a Hale outfit for the morning and went to bed at 8pm. Margo still hadn’t responded to any of his calls or texts, so he sent her a final message before falling asleep.

_I’m going out of town for a couple of weeks. Long story. I’m sorry again. Call me when you stop being mad._

He climbed onto his plane at 6:30 the following morning in just as bad of a mood as he’d gone to sleep in. He wasn’t a morning person, which wasn’t helping in the slightest as he snuck through the darkness and onto the tarmac at LAX. He felt like some kind of criminal having to be exiled for his crimes. At least it was only to San Francisco. He had some friends in the area that he could catch up with. It didn’t have to be a bad trip overall.

He declined his staff’s offers of coffee and breakfast and fell asleep within minutes of sitting down. When he woke up again, it was to the feeling of the plane skidding along the runway. He sat up and looked around in a daze. He felt like he’d been asleep a lot longer than he should have been for the hour long flight.

He waited reluctantly for the pilot to give the all clear before he stood up to gather his bags. When the door opened and the steps of the plane were folded out for him, he donned his sunglasses and took a deep breath. Time to begin his two week hiatus.

He stepped off the plane, keeping his head down as he usually did when trying not to be spotted, and hurried down the stairs. It was only when he made it halfway to the bottom that he started to realize something was wrong. It was too quiet and too warm for him to be in northern California.

He looked up, and he nearly fell the rest of the way down the stairs as he came to an abrupt stop.

He was standing on what would pass more easily as a concrete slab than a runway, and he was surrounded by fields. With _cows_.

There was a _moo_ somewhere to his right, and he started to laugh, suddenly feeling hysterical.

What the _fuck_.

He turned his head when he heard the roar of an engine to see a beat up pick up truck approaching down a dirt road that led from what was apparently the airport of this godforsaken place. He watched in astonishment as it stopped in front of his plane and a guy about his age rolled down the window to greet him.

“Hey, Eliot! Remember me? It’s Todd!” he yelled. “Grandma sent me to pick you up!”

Todd. As in Todd Waugh. As in Eliot’s cousin. 

He looked around.

Oh, motherfuck.

He was in Indiana.


	2. Chapter 2

Eliot hurriedly slipped off his glasses and tucked them into his jacket pocket. He honestly doubted that Todd would be the one to put two and two together, but one could never be too careful. He tucked his hair behind his ears and out of his face as he stared at the truck in front of him. Todd’s head was still hanging out of the driver’s side window with a goofy smile as he waved Eliot over.

The way Eliot saw it, he had two options. One, he could get back on the plane and stage a sit in until he was either forcibly removed or taken back to LA. Or two, he could get in the truck and let Todd drive him back to his grandma’s house, where he could get on the phone and book his own damn flight out of here before any of the dust from this town had time to settle on him.

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Honestly, fuck Fogg and Jane. If they wanted him to disappear, he’d show them what that looks like. He’d book a flight to fucking Tasmania or something and let them try and track him down.

And so, decision made, he lugged his suitcase down the remaining steps and across the dirt road to the passenger side of Todd’s truck. Todd smiled at him happily as he stacked his luggage in the middle seat between them and slammed the door. Eliot hadn’t seen Todd in a long while, but he seemed to be pretty much the same as he’d been when they were kids. He had this look about him where you could just tell that if a psychic were to read his mind, they’d only hear elevator music up there.

“All the way from Hollywood to Indiana!” Todd mused. He put the car in drive and started off towards the highway. “How does it feel to be back?”

“Just peachy,” Eliot grumbled.

Todd either didn’t pick up on his sarcasm or just didn’t care. Honestly, either was likely.

“What’s it like out there anyway?” he asked. “Have you met any celebrities?”

Eliot laughed. 

“Yeah, I know a few,” he said.

That was the understatement of the century.

Todd turned to look at him in amazement though, and Eliot rolled his eyes. Todd asked, “Like who?”

Eliot smirked. What was the point of being here if he couldn’t at least have a little fun with it?

“I know Hale,” he said casually.

Todd gasped.

“What, really?!” he asked. 

“Mmhmm, we’re practically best friends,” Eliot said.

“Wow,” Todd breathed. “You are so cool.”

Eliot raised an eyebrow at him and laughed under his breath. Ah yes, Todd was the weird cousin who had followed him around like a lost puppy growing up. He’d almost forgotten.

Mercifully, the ride commenced in silence after that. Well, Todd was humming along to the country station on the radio, but that was tolerable compared to any further conversation. Eliot used the time to stare out the window and watch the corn fields as they drove through town. He’d forgotten that Indiana was like this. So big and largely empty. He’d grown used to living in the city, where every square inch of space was scooped up for one purpose or another. It was almost like looking at an alien landscape as he watched acres and acres of farmland fly by without a single soul in sight.

They made it all the way to the two lane highway about a mile from his grandma’s house, which admittedly wasn’t very far, before Todd spoke up again.

He asked, “So, what did you get grandma for her birthday?” 

Eliot snapped his head around to face him.

“It’s not grandma’s birthday,” he said.

Todd frowned at him. He said, “Yes, it is. It’s July fifteenth.”

Eliot pulled out his phone and opened the calendar app, only to see that Todd was right. There was an event for it and everything. He must have overlooked it with all the drama of the last few days.

“Well, shit,” he said.

Todd only smiled at him, saying, “Don’t worry! She’s so excited you’re here that I doubt she’ll expect anything else.”

Eliot gave him a forced chuckle in response. God, not only was he stuck here, he couldn’t exactly bail immediately in light of this new information. His grandma was the only family member he still felt anything for other than contempt. He may be a shitty grandson for staying away for years and never calling, but he wasn’t cruel enough to be a royal dick to her on her birthday. 

Then he had another thought, one that sent a sickening wave of nausea right through him.

“Uh, Todd,” he asked, “you don’t happen to know if my parents or my brothers are…”

He trailed off, hoping to get away without spelling it out. He was okay with his grandma, but his immediate family was where he would draw the line every time. He meant it when he told them they’d never see him again at sixteen. That wasn’t about to change now.

Todd cleared his throat and stared straight ahead at the highway.

“No,” he said, and Eliot felt a wave of relief rush through him, “they don’t come around here anymore. Haven’t for a few years now. I think grandma had a falling out with your folks not long after you left.”

Todd gave him a sideways glance, and he nodded. Well, that was a relief. Also a surprise. Eliot hadn’t really known or cared what happened when he left town. He just knew he was gone and that was that. It struck him suddenly that life had actually gone on in this place in his absence, and he wondered what else had changed.

Not that he was sticking around long enough to find out. He would be a good grandson and spend his grandma’s birthday with her, and then he was out.

The truck sputtered suddenly, and Eliot looked over at Todd, who was now very frantic.

“What’s wrong?” Eliot asked.

“I don’t know,” Todd said distractedly, fiddling with the gear shift.

Then, within seconds, they were crawling to a stop. They were literally in the middle of the highway, but Eliot looked both ways to find that there was no one in either direction as far as he could see. Figures. Todd was nearly having a panic attack trying to turn the key over and over again, and Eliot leaned his head against the back glass with a sigh. He forced himself to take a couple of measured breaths before opening his eyes again.

Todd looked at him and said, “I can’t get it to start!”

Eliot leaned over his suitcases to look at the dash. There weren’t any warning lights on, which was a good sign but not helpful. Then he spotted the fuel gauge and laughed.

“You ran out of gas,” he said.

Todd looked down at the gauge and sighed in relief before resting his head against the steering wheel.

“Oh, thank God that’s all,” he said.

“What do you mean ‘that’s all’?” Eliot asked, “How are we going to get the truck home? The nearest gas station is five miles away.”

Todd opened the door and hopped out without answering, and Eliot watched as he reached into the back of the truck. He held up a red gas can.

“I keep a few gallons back here just in case,” he explained cheerfully. “It’ll only take a minute for me to fill up.”

Eliot exhaled. Well, that was good he supposed, if not the most redneck thing he’d seen in awhile. He glanced in the side mirror and noticed Todd struggling to get the gas cap open. This was going to take longer than a minute. 

The truck cab was already getting stuffy with the air conditioner off, so he opened the door. He might as well get some fresh air while they were stuck. He unfolded himself out of the small seat and stretched as he looked around. Only the buzz of cicadas and Todd struggling with the gas can could be heard around him. There was something relaxing about the quiet of the country, but he knew it could also drive you crazy if you stuck around long enough.

He walked over to the old wooden fence a few feet off the highway and leaned his back against it, gazing at the field opposite him. They were close enough to the house now that this would be part of his family’s farm. It didn’t look like anything was growing in it this season though. He supposed it made sense if his father and brothers weren’t there to manage the crops anymore. As he looked out over it, a part of him took some satisfaction in the overgrown field. It was proof that at least one thing had changed for the better since he’d been gone.

Then, something pulled his hair, and he jumped.

“What the fuck?!” he yelled.

He swirled around only to come face to face with a black horse. He yelped again as he jumped back.

“Where the hell did you come from?” he asked.

He heard a laugh from behind him and turned to look at Todd.

“You don’t recognize him?” he asked.

Eliot looked back at the horse and stared at it until, all of a sudden, it hit him.

“Bowie?” he breathed in astonishment.

“Yep,” Todd said, “Grandma wouldn’t sell him no matter what. Kept saying you’d want your horse when you came back one day.”

Eliot reached out his hand slowly and ran it gently down the horse’s face. Bowie neighed at him in response. He laughed.

“Well, in my defense, you do look different,” he told the horse. 

The horse shook his head at him, almost like he was responding to Eliot’s statement. He had a horse. How had he forgotten?

Well, truthfully, he hadn’t forgotten. He just thought he’d never see him again, so he’d compartmentalized that fact. Still.

“All ready to go now!” Todd called.

Eliot looked at the horse for a moment and then turned back to him.

“You go on ahead,” he said. “I’ll meet you back at the house.”

Todd just shrugged at him before hopping in the truck and taking off. Eliot turned back to Bowie, his horse, and reached out to pet his mane. 

“Guess it’s just you and me,” he said.

Eliot braced his hands on the wooden railing as he flung one leg and then the other over it. He could definitely say it had been awhile since he’d climbed a fence. Margo would die if she saw him right now. He jumped down onto the soft grass and felt proud of himself for not falling. Some things really were just like riding a bike, he supposed.

He had a wild thought then. There was nothing stopping him from riding his horse back to the house. Maybe it had been awhile, but he used to ride almost everyday. How hard could it be?

So, he put his hands on Bowie’s back and gave him a pat.

“Hold still for me now, okay?” he asked.

Bowie gave him a noncommittal huff in response.

“Alright,” Eliot said under his breath.

He jumped up and managed to sling his leg over to the other side of the horse, only slipping a little bit before he could steady himself. Bowie made a jerky motion, so Eliot leaned forward to rub his hand over the side of his neck.

“It’s okay, just me,” he said quietly.

He leaned back and gave himself a happy little sigh. He’d done it. He’d successfully gotten on his horse, with no saddle, after years out of practice. If nothing else, he had that going for him on this little excursion. 

“Alright, are you ready to walk?” he asked.

Bowie apparently was not ready to walk. He _was_ ready to run though. At the sound of Eliot’s voice, he took off like a bat out of hell, and Eliot had no way of being ready to hold on. Very quickly, he found himself flying off the back of his horse and landing on the grass in a very graceless flop.

“Wait, come back!” he yelled uselessly.

Bowie was already yards away, and Eliot leaned back into the grass in a huff. Now he was going to have to walk all the way back to the house, and he’d gotten one of his Hale outfits dirty. This day could not get any fucking better.

The sudden sound of galloping from behind him caught his attention, and he looked quickly over his shoulder just in time to see a brown horse fly past him. The man on it had a rope in hand, already lassoing it as he pursued Eliot’s horse. Eliot could only watch from his place on the ground as he caught up and effortlessly got Bowie settled next to him. After he’d tied the rope to his saddle, he turned around, leading Bowie back towards the scene of the crime.

Eliot stood and brushed himself off. He wasn’t in one of his suits at least, so it was easier to brush the dirt off of denim. Not that he was looking to impress some backwater cowboy. It would just make it easier to clean later.

When the man was just a few feet away, he stopped his horse and called for Bowie to stop too. Eliot really got a good look at him then and realized he wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. He was about Eliot’s age with a slight build and his brown hair tied back into a bun. He was wearing boots, light wash Levi’s, and a black t-shirt, and he was _cute_.

He smiled at Eliot as he jumped off of his horse, and Eliot’s only coherent thought was _oh no_.

“Sorry about Bowie,” the man said, gesturing towards the horse. “He doesn’t take well to strangers, especially not… sparkly ones.”

The man was looking at him with an amused smile, and Eliot crossed his arms over his chest as indignation prickled under his skin. Just who did this guy think he was?

“I know,” Eliot said. He looked the man in the eyes. “He’s my horse.”

A little wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows as he looked at Eliot from head to toe. Then, his face lit up.

In an awed sounding voice, he asked, “Eliot?”

Eliot nodded at him curtly.

“And you are?” he asked

“Um,” he stammered and shuffled nervously, “I’m Quentin. Coldwater. Remember? We used to go swimming in your grandpa’s pond when we were kids. My dad, uh, owned the store in town. You used to come in with your grandma after church for lunch, and you always complained about the music.”

Eliot watched him ramble on endearingly with a growing smile on his face. As cute as it was, he decided to put him out of his misery after a few moments and said, “I remember you, Quentin.”

“Oh,” Quentin said, “okay.”

Was that a blush on his cheeks? Oh, the universe was just laughing at Eliot now.

Lest Quentin get too full of himself, Eliot added, “I also seem to remember you pushing me into the pond a few times.”

Quentin definitely blushed then as he laughed and rubbed his elbow.

“Yeah I, uh, guess I kind of had a pretty big crush on you back then,” he said.

Eliot felt his eyebrows shoot straight up to the top of his forehead as he stared at Quentin in shock.

“What?” he asked.

Quentin turned back around to pet his horse, and said, “Don’t worry about it, I’m over it.”

“Okay, uh, good. That’s good,” Eliot replied.

The universe was no longer just laughing at him. It was now throwing popcorn too.

“So, do you wanna head up to the house?” Quentin asked. “I can give you a ride. It’s not too far.”

Eliot pulled himself together enough to huff stubbornly, “I can ride Bowie back myself.”

Quentin laughed at him as he climbed back onto the saddle of his own horse.

“After that last attempt? Are you sure?” he asked.

Eliot exhaled as he looked at Bowie mindlessly eating grass in front of him. The little shit. 

“Fine, I’ll just walk,” he said.

Quentin fixed him with an amused look, and Eliot straightened his shoulders. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Quentin said. “Come on, I won’t bite.”

He reached out his hand, and Eliot glared at it. What the hell, stranger things had already happened that day.

He took Quentin’s hand and let himself be pulled up and over the back of the horse behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back as far as he could without sliding off. He might have agreed to this, but he wasn’t going to hold onto Quentin like some little kid afraid to fall off. He did have some dignity left.

Quentin didn’t say anything about it as he tapped his feet against the horse’s sides and set them on a steady walk along the fenceline. Bowie trotted along behind them, apparently happy enough to behave now that Quentin had caught him. Traitor.

“How long’s it been since you’ve been back here anyway?” Quentin asked.

“Awhile,” Eliot answered vaguely.

“I can see that,” Quentin laughed.

Eliot glared at the back of his head.

He asked, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Just, have you looked at a mirror today?” Quentin asked. “You’re dressed like _that_ , and you can’t even get on your horse. Looks like you’ve gone California to me.”

Eliot scoffed at him. The literal nerve of this man.

“What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?” he challenged.

“Nothing,” Quentin shrugged, “but you’re not gonna fit in very well around here.”

Eliot mumbled, “That’s the point.”

Quentin let it go, which Eliot was grateful for. So what if he’d ‘gone California’? He definitely hadn’t been trying to maintain a sense of Indiana chic.

“So, how long are you staying?” Quentin asked.

Eliot answered, “Two weeks, unless I can get out faster.”

Quentin hummed in response. Eliot had expected him to ask why or comment on his haste to leave. Maybe he was just prepared for a fight with anyone he came into contact with in this place though. It was kind of nice to find that maybe there was at least one exception.

“Well, your grandma will be happy to see you,” Quentin said. “She talks about you all the time.”

Eliot smiled sadly at that. He really should have called more. At least he was here now, which had to make up for a few phone calls at least. 

The house became visible through the trees up ahead, and Quentin led the horses onto a gravel road as they approached. It was the cliche of a country farmhouse. The old white paint was chipping in a few places, and the green shutters weren’t as bright as he remembered them being, but it still looked the same after all these years. 

They took turns hopping off of the horse once they came to a stop in the driveway, and Eliot stretched. He’d forgotten how stiff riding a horse made your body feel. It had been quite awhile, he supposed.

“You should go inside,” Quentin said, “I’ll take the horses back to the barn.”

Eliot looked at the house then back at him.

He said, “You don’t have to do that.”

Quentin grinned at him. He said, “It’s kind of my job.”

“What?” Eliot asked.

“I’m working on the farm for the summer for your grandma,” Quentin explained. “Guess she thought both me and the farm needed looking after.”

Eliot nodded and said, “That sounds like grandma.”

They looked at each other for a moment before Quentin cleared his throat and turned around. He was a skittish little thing, and Eliot couldn’t help that he found it incredibly endearing. 

“Right well, guess I’ll see you later, El,” he said. Then he gave Eliot a small smile. “I used to call you that when we were kids. El.”

Eliot smiled at him. He said, “I remember, Q.”

Quentin grinned at him then and turned to walk towards the barn, both horses trailing behind him. Eliot indulged himself in watching for just a moment before he sighed and turned back to the house. 

It was just a house, not a battlefield. Eliot still squared his shoulders and smoothed out the wrinkles on his shirt though before he took that first step towards it.

He could hear music from somewhere inside the second he opened the door. The twang coming from both the guitar and the voices singing along took him right back to his childhood and all the time he’d spent listening to various relatives grabbing the nearest instrument at family gatherings. He wandered down the hall and around the corner to see exactly that happening in the living room and leaned against the doorframe to watch.

He recognized most of the faces. Among the crowd was one of his uncles, an aunt, Todd, a few distant cousins, and what must have been some of their partners. There were a few little kids sitting on the floor looking up at the people playing and singing with happy smiles on their faces. Then his grandma was leaning against the fireplace clapping and swaying along.

The song wrapped up to a round of applause from the group, and Eliot hung back as they all dispersed off to various corners of the house. He nodded hello to the few people that had noticed him. He couldn’t ignore the wary looks they were giving him. To be fair, it wasn’t entirely wrong to imagine that many of them were surprised to see him walk in. He hadn’t exactly made an effort to keep in touch in recent years, and he was just as surprised as they were that he was here now.

Then he felt a hand on his back and jumped.

“Eliot,” his grandma chided, “it’s just me, child. Has it been so long that you don’t even remember what I look like?”

He turned around and looked down to see the woman glaring up at him challengingly. Rosemary Waugh was five feet four inches of pure spitfire attitude, and Eliot loved her dearly. He bent down to wrap her in a hug and tucked his face into her shoulder as he felt a wave of emotion overcome him. He’d actually missed her a lot, but he hadn’t let himself feel it until this moment.

“Happy birthday, grandma. It’s good to see you,” he said, as he pulled away.

She looked up at him with a gentle smile.

“You too, baby,” she said. Just as quickly as her soft expression had arrived, it was replaced with a conspiratorial grin. She said, “You’d better go get you some cake before Todd gets to it. You know how he is.”

Eliot laughed. “Yeah, I know,” he said.

She patted his arm and said, “We’ll catch up later.”

He nodded at her once before following her advice and wandering into the kitchen. He smiled politely at a few people as he passed by. Being in that house with those people felt indescribably weird. He wasn’t incredibly endeared to his distant relatives, but he’d at least known them once upon a time. Now they were as good as strangers, and they were looking at him like he was one too. 

_It’s just for a few days_. He repeated it to himself like a mantra.

Speaking of which. He grabbed a piece of birthday cake and pulled out his phone to look up flights. When he unlocked it though, he groaned. He had pretty much no service. He should have counted on that out here in the middle of nowhere. Not willing to give up hope yet, he sat down his cake on the counter and went out into the backyard. 

One bar appeared. That was enough to make him keep searching.

He spent the next few minutes pacing around the yard, holding his phone in the air at various angles. Sadly, he couldn’t get anywhere close to enough service to make a phone call or google flight schedules. He didn’t stomp his foot and throw a hissy fit, but it was a very close call.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out. It was okay. He would just have to go into town tomorrow and find somewhere that had wifi. And also hope that he didn’t run into anyone he knew from high school. 

On second thought, it might be worth it to go out as Hale just to avoid that particular fate.

“Eliot!” Todd called from the back door, “what are you doing out here?”

He snapped, “Go away, Todd!”

“Okay!” Todd said happily.

The screen door banged shut behind him and Eliot sighed. Maybe he’d take a lap around the backyard again just to be sure he couldn’t get any service.

Later that night, after the extended family had gone home, Eliot found himself sitting on the edge of the bed in his childhood bedroom. Well, it hadn’t been officially his. There were plenty of other grandkids who would have been offered the space if necessary, but he was the one who occupied it the most often. 

He ran his hand along the wooden frame.

It was his toys that lived in the cedar chest at the foot of the bed when he was just a little kid and loved to stay the night. He wondered if they were still there. When he was eight years old, his grandma had let him pick the paint when they’d remodeled the room. He had followed his grandpa around for hours painting masterpieces on the blank white walls before they were all covered in forest green. Then at twelve, he’d hidden in the closet of this bedroom when he’d run away from home and all the yelling that had gone on. At sixteen, he had stood at the foot of this bed when he told his grandma he was leaving and he wasn’t coming back.

It was Eliot’s bedroom.

So then, why did it feel like a place he didn’t belong now?

“I couldn’t bring myself to redecorate.”

He turned around to see his grandma watching him from the doorway. She gave him a fond little smile, and he smiled back at her.

“Well, I always did have good taste,” he replied.

“That you did,” she agreed.

A hushed silence fell between them, and Eliot looked at the floor. There was a lot going through his mind, but he didn’t know which thought to settle on. I’m sorry? I missed you? I should have called? Leaving was worth it? They were all right and also wrong.

Before he could figure it out, she said, “I don’t blame you for leaving, Eliot.”

He looked up at her, feeling exactly like the little kid who had once resided in this bedroom. 

“I wish you would have visited once or twice though. I’m not exactly getting younger, you know,” she added.

Eliot felt a little bit of relief as he laughed at her in response. She was still his grandma, that much was evident. He also felt guilty though. She may have been joking, but she wasn’t lying. He could look at her face and pick out the new wrinkles and see the mix of gray hair on her head that had once been golden brown. He’d grown up himself over the last several years, but somehow when he looked in the mirror, he didn’t see those changes so clearly. Now, he could practically feel the years on his skin. 

“I’m…” he started, but he wasn’t really sure what thought he was chasing.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him. 

He closed his mouth and simply nodded at her. She watched him for a moment longer before walking forward to stand in front of him. He looked up at her, and she leaned down and pulled him into a tight hug. He was shocked for just a moment before he dropped his head onto her shoulder and exhaled into her shirt. She felt so small and fragile in his arms, and he wondered if he just hadn’t noticed it before.

“You did what you had to do, and I’m so proud of you for who you’ve become,” she said.

He closed his eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She squeezed him again and said, “You shouldn’t have had to make that choice, but you did the right thing. I always understood that.”

He only nodded against her shoulder in response. When she pulled away, she wiped at one eye before straightening up into her full posture. 

“Anyways, I was surprised when your manager called and said you’d be staying here a couple of weeks,” she said. “I figured you’d have a million other places to be now that you’re all grown up and famous.”

He felt a stab of guilt again. He was so going to fire Henry Fogg for this, and maybe Jane too.

He tried, “I guess there’s no place like home?”

She gave him a skeptical look and laughed. She said, “Honey, you’ve never wanted to be in this place any longer than you had to be, even when you were just a little one.”

Well, she had a point there.

“No matter why, I’m glad you’re here,” she said, “and you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

She reached forward to brush his hair off of his forehead, and he leaned into her hand.

“You’re still my sunshine,” she said.

He smiled up at her. “Thanks, grandma.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” she said. “Now, I better go and let you get some sleep. I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

To say that he’d had a long day would be a disservice to the last twenty-four hours. Still, he said, “Yeah, it’s definitely been a day.”

She turned on his bedside lamp before walking back to the door and turning off the light. 

“Goodnight, Eliot,” she said.

He replied, “Night, grandma.”

She pulled the door closed behind her, and Eliot listened as her footsteps faded down the hall. He looked around the room at his suitcases. One belonged to the Eliot things he’d packed and one belonged to his Hale ensemble. Instead of opening either of them to settle in, he simply pulled back the covers and climbed into his bed. He flicked off his lamp and turned to lay on his back. As he stared up at the ceiling, he noted how quiet it was without the sounds of constant traffic outside. 

He had a feeling it would be awhile before he slept.


	3. Chapter 3

Eliot woke up at a truly awful hour the next morning to an honest to god rooster crowing outside his window. He picked up the pillow next to him and pulled it down over his face. The rooster, unsympathetic to his plight, crowed again, and Eliot groaned into the pillow this time.

Ah, the joys of life on a farm. How could he have ever left?

After several minutes of this, he gave up on going back to sleep and reluctantly crawled out of bed. He took his time getting ready. It wasn’t like he had a lot on his agenda for the day in the middle of fucking nowhere, except possibly finding some goddamn wifi.

When he wandered downstairs and into the kitchen, he was greeted with the sight of his grandma setting out a skillet and what looked like ingredients for breakfast. She turned to him with a smile.

“Good morning!” she said, too happily for the early hour. She opened the refrigerator and huffed. “Eliot, would you be a dear and run down to the barn for me? I’m all out of eggs.”

Eliot opened his mouth to argue and then closed it again when she turned to face him. Her no-nonsense expression told him that he was going to lose. 

“And change out of those clothes,” she said, looking him over. “You can’t collect eggs in that.”

He looked down at his sweatshirt and skinny jeans combo and frowned. He supposed she was right. Not that he’d been planning to work on the _farm_ in this outfit when he’d gotten dressed.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

He heard his grandma laugh as he turned and went back upstairs.

“Thank you!” she called. 

He sighed. This was going to be a long two weeks.

None of his wardrobe was exactly fit for farm life, so he dug around in the closet until he found some of his old clothes from before he left. There were a couple of short sleeved plaid shirts from when he was sixteen that looked like they’d still fit. As much as the idea of wearing plaid made him want to scream, he figured it was better than dirtying up his good clothes. So, he slipped off his sweatshirt and buttoned up the blue and white plaid shirt instead. He looked in the mirror and sighed. Thank God no one was here to see him dressed like this. He’d never live it down.

His grandma gave him an approving nod as he passed by the kitchen again on his way out. It had been awhile since he’d done anything on a farm, but he knew from memory that he would need to feed the chickens if he had any hope of getting them to leave their nests. So, he went straight for the feed in the barn and filled up a bucket. He barely had to shake it before he found himself ambushed.

His entire world very quickly became a sea of clucking and crowing and pecking at his feet. He tried throwing out the food, which only distracted a few of them. He took a haphazard step backward and yelped as he tripped over a hen.

“What is wrong with all of you?!” he asked. “I’m the good guy here, see!”

He held up the bucket to emphasize his point, which only made the clucking throng grow wilder. He sighed in exasperation and began to throw out some more food. Then he heard a laugh from the door of the barn.

He turned around to see Quentin leaning against the frame with his arms folded over his chest and an amused smile on his face.

“You need some help?” he asked.

Eliot scowled at him. He said, “No.”

“Okay,” Quentin said. He gave Eliot a not at all subtle once over. “Nice shirt, by the way.”

Eliot gave him an unimpressed glare before turning around to throw out some more chicken feed, which did little to make them stop clamoring at his feet. 

Quentin laughed to himself and turned around. As he walked away, he called, “Just a hint: you might want to put down the bucket.”

Eliot glared at his retreating back. He yelled, “I said I don’t need help, thank you very much!”

He could hear Quentin still laughing at him, but he turned back to the hoard of feral chickens in front of him. He led them to the side of the barn and dumped out the bucket, leaving it sitting there on the ground. To his great relief, they stayed put while he snuck back to their now unattended nests. Huh. So, that worked.

He would never tell Quentin.

He had a much easier time gathering eggs after that, and after collecting what seemed like a sufficient amount, he bid the chickens goodbye and headed back up to the house. His grandma was pleased and the breakfast waiting for him was divine, which almost made the embarrassment worth it. His plans to seek out wifi once again were thwarted though when we was somehow roped into accompanying his grandma to the farmer’s market.

“Oh, it’s just so nice to have you around to help me out,” she told him, as they carried crates of fruit and vegetables down the sidewalk. 

Eliot struggled with the crate of tomatoes in his arms and shifted it until he had a better hold on it. He grumbled, “Isn’t that what Quentin’s for?”

His grandma chuckled at him. “No one can replace my Eliot,” she said.

He rolled his eyes, but he had a fond smile on his face. 

“Speaking of Quentin,” she said, “you two seem to be getting along.”

“We’ve had like two conversations,” Eliot replied.

“I’m just saying he’s a good kid,” his grandma said innocently.

“Uh huh,” he said.

They made it to her allotted booth in the town square, which was roped off for the morning’s market. The walk there had involved stopping at several other booths along the way to say hello to practically every person they saw because his grandma was just that person who had never met a stranger in her life. Eliot’s poor muscles had been tired by the time he was able to set down the final crate. He hadn’t lifted anything much heavier than a microphone in the last few years, and it definitely showed.

He was laying out the merchandise at his grandmother’s direction when he heard her scoff next to him. He turned to see her glaring at a man setting up a display a few booths down.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

Without taking her eyes off of the man, she said, “That’s Everett, the big shot real estate developer who thinks he’s gonna buy Fairmount and turn it into a shopping mall.”

Eliot leaned around her to get a look at him, and sure enough, the man was setting up a replica of what looked looked like a huge shopping district with condominiums and restaurants all around it. 

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked. “This town could use a facelift.”

His grandma turned the force of her glare on him then, and he raised his eyes at her in question. 

“This town would go under if he has his way,” she told him, her voice as angry as he’d ever heard it. “Folks around here are already barely getting by as it is. Imagine what would happen to all of our local businesses.”

Eliot supposed he hadn’t thought about it like that. He’d noticed a few closed storefronts as they walked through town, but that was just the course of things. The world had moved on, and these small towns stuck in the twentieth century weren’t built to last. He’d known that when he’d left. It was sort of sad, but it was just what was inevitable. 

He didn’t dare speak about inevitability to his grandma though as she took her knife to a watermelon and forcefully split it open. It only took a few minutes of her cutting her eyes at the man angrily for her to reach her breaking point. She turned and handed the knife to Eliot.

“Here, cut this piece up for samples,” she said. “I’m gonna go put this mood of mine to good use.”

He laughed as he regarded her and said, “Okay, just don’t get us kicked out.”

She marched off toward the man’s booth as Eliot continued filling the tray she’d left with sample watermelon bites. He looked up after she’d gone and watched as the crowd grew around the town square. There were admittedly a lot more people than he’d expected to show up to this kind of thing. He supposed there wasn’t much else to do in Fairmount. You had to take your entertainment where you could get it.

He froze though when, a few booths down, he spotted a familiar face. It took him a minute to place the man, but when he did, he immediately ducked behind the table and out of sight. It was that reporter. The same one who’d been tailing him in LA. Tick? Mick? What on earth was he doing _here_?

Eliot peeked over the top of the table and noticed that the man seemed to be going from booth to booth talking to people. He was also holding something in his hand, which he seemed to be showing everyone he spoke to. Eliot kept watching until he got close enough for him to get a good look at it. He held the photo at just the right angle, and Eliot gasped. It was a picture of him. Well, a picture of him as Hale, but still. 

The people he was speaking to kept shaking their heads, so it didn’t seem like he was getting anywhere, but he was definitely asking around about Eliot. Which, again, how the hell had he ended up here? Eliot had never once uttered the name of his hometown in LA outside of his manager’s office. 

He realized that the man was going to reach his booth if he didn’t do something quickly, so he looked around for an escape plan. He was drawing a blank until he spotted a bucket of walnuts directly in the path of the reporter. Maybe it wasn’t the most mature thing to do, but few people had ever accused Eliot of being mature. So, very casually, he walked over to the bucket and gave it a swift kick as he passed it. The effect was immediate, and Eliot hurriedly paced back over to his booth to watch. One minute the reporter was asking the old man selling apples if he knew Hale, and the next he was hit with a flood of walnuts that had him tripping over his own feet. 

Eliot hid his laughter behind his hand as he watched the man flail and the photo of him go flying. Pretty much the entire market was watching by the time the reporter hit the ground. Eliot looked back down at his table quickly and reached for his abandoned watermelon knife. His innocent act didn’t last long though before his grandma was calling his name.

“Eliot, come help me with this man!” she yelled.

He looked over to see his grandma helping the reporter up, and he groaned. Of course, his sweet grandmother would be the first one to rush to his aid. He abandoned the booth though and hurried over because he couldn’t exactly make a scene of not helping now. On his way, he stopped to scoop up the photo of him and shoved it into his pocket. The man was halfway on his feet by the time Eliot got there, but he took his arm anyway and helped him over to the sidewalk. 

“Thank you,” the man huffed as he sat down. 

He turned to look at Eliot then, and Eliot did his best to keep a cool expression. With his hair pulled back and dressed like this, there was no way the reporter would recognize him. It was still unnerving though. 

Finally the reporter said, “You’re about the same age. Perhaps you know where I might be able to find Hale or any of his family?”

Eliot’s grandma shot him a look over the top of the man’s head as she dropped the arm she’d been holding. Eliot cleared his throat.

In the most godawful country accent he could manage, he said, “You mean the celebrity Hale? Of course I know about him! I’m his biggest fan.”

The man’s face lit up and he pulled a notepad out of his pocket.

In a grating customer service voice, he said, “He’s telling everyone that this is where he came from, but no one here seems to know him. Could you maybe give me a phone number? Or an address?”

Eliot’s grandma reached out and patted the man’s arm, getting his attention again. She said, “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of him being from around here, and this town’s small. If he lived here, I’d know about it. Trust me.”

The reporter deflated as he turned back to Eliot, and Eliot just shrugged.

“Very well then,” the man said. 

He stood up and brushed himself off. As he wandered away, Eliot could hear him muttering something about small town people. He laughed to himself as he turned back to his grandma. 

“That looks like trouble,” she said seriously.

He nodded in agreement. Whatever that guy was doing here, it definitely wasn’t good. 

By the next day, Eliot had honestly mostly forgotten about the reporter. He doubted the man got anything that he’d come snooping around for, so hopefully he’d just called it a bad lead and went on his merry way. If Eliot was going to be in exile, he’d prefer to actually be left alone.

That was why he’d found himself up in the loft of the barn that afternoon. He’d been working on a new song for weeks and still couldn’t get past the first few chords. He had an audience now, though an unhelpful one, made up of one chicken that had found its way into the top of the barn with him and a few horses in the stables below. He was stretched out with his back resting against a pile of hay and an old guitar in his lap. 

He tried the chord progression again and winced as the last one definitely still didn’t work. The chicken in front of him squawked. 

“Yeah, I know. It sucks,” he told the hen. 

She clucked at him and went back to pecking around in the hay. He sighed and started from the top. He made it back to yet another wrong chord, and then he heard a quiet shuffle that sounded too heavy to be another chicken.

He sat down his guitar and peeked around the bales of hay stacked at his side.

He called, “Hello? Is someone there?”

Quentin stepped around the wall of hay with a very sheepish look on his face, and Eliot’s face broke out into a grin.

“I’m sorry, uh, I’ll go,” Quentin said quickly. 

He turned to climb down the ladder, and Eliot said, “Wait.”

Quentin stopped and slowly turned back around.

“What did you think?” Eliot asked.

“Of the song?” Quentin replied.

“Obviously.”

Quentin looked around as he brought one hand up to push his hair out of his eyes. It was pulled back again today, but there were these little pieces that had fallen around his face that he kept fidgeting with. 

“It was okay,” he said.

Eliot looked at him.

“Okay?” he asked. “What does that mean?”

Quentin laughed. “It means it was okay,” he said, “but it didn’t sound finished yet.”

Eliot gave him a little frustrated nod. “Yeah, it’s that last chord. I just can’t figure it out.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it,” Quentin said. He shuffled his feet, like he still wasn’t sure if he was staying or going. He added, “I think it’s cool that you’re still doing that singing thing.”

“Singing thing?” Eliot asked.

Quentin ducked his head as he answered, “Yeah, um, I remember you used to sing at the county fair when you were a kid. Everyone knew it was all you ever wanted to do.”

Eliot felt a wave of bittersweet emotion wash over him, both for that little kid Q was talking about and himself now. If only he could tell Quentin just how much of that singing thing he was still doing.

“Yeah, well, I guess I grew out of that,” he said instead.

Quentin looked up at him with a coy smile, which just thoroughly disarmed Eliot to his core. He said, “It doesn’t look like you have to me.”

Eliot only grinned at him in response because he couldn’t say much else without giving anything of the Hale secret away. He’d weathered bigger threats to his career than a cute boy who somehow made Eliot want to spill his guts. This was just temporary anyways, and then he’d be back to life as usual. 

Oblivious to Eliot’s internal breakdown, Quentin looked down again at the floor of the barn and said, “I, uh, have work to do. So, good luck with your song.”

He gave Eliot a little wave before he started climbing down the stairs. Eliot sat there for a moment and stared down at the sheet music he was still stuck on. Then he glanced at the chicken, who was now giving him a weirdly pointed look for a farm animal.

“Yeah, okay,” he muttered to the hen. 

He left the guitar leaning against a bale of hay and followed Quentin down the stairs. By the time he reached the bottom, he could just see him walking around to the other side of the barn, his arms filled with various tools. Eliot followed curiously.

“So, what are you up to?” he asked.

Quentin jumped and dropped everything in his hands, and Eliot couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him.

“Jesus, Eliot, you scared the crap out of me!” he said.

“Sorry,” Eliot replied, not sounding very sorry even to his own ears.

He leaned down to help Quentin pick up the various items he’d dropped.

“I made a deal with your grandma to fix up this old shed,” he explained, gesturing to the very weathered looking building behind him.

Eliot turned his head to the side and looked at it. The ancient wooden building had been there as long as Eliot could remember, only growing more faded and worn with age. It seemed like a lost cause to him.

“What are you getting out of this deal?” he asked skeptically.

“I’m turning it into a fruit stand,” Quentin said proudly. “She said if I fixed it up, I could sell the peaches and plums from the orchard in it.”

Eliot looked at the old shed and then back at him.

“Is that really all you want to do?” he asked. “Sell fruit in Fairmount, Indiana?”

He couldn’t help the way the derisive tone slipped into his voice around the name of the town and the idea of living in it. It was pure reflex. Only this time, after he said it, he felt the slightest bit of guilt creep in behind it. This was Quentin he was talking to, not one of his LA friends who would laugh along with him about the absurdity of such a fate.

“Well, where else am I gonna sell it?” Quentin asked.

Eliot felt a surprise laugh bubble up from his chest, and he schooled his expression to give Quentin an unimpressed look. Quentin just smiled at him, seeming more amused than offended.

“I know what you meant,” Quentin said, “but you really don’t get this place at all, do you?”

Somewhat genuinely, Eliot asked, “What’s there to get about peaches and plums?”

Quentin sat down his tools and turned around to go back into the barn. Eliot peered around the corner and watched him curiously.

“I thought you had work to do?” he asked.

Quentin came back and tossed a saddle on the ground at Eliot’s feet.

“Work can wait,” he shrugged. “Right now, I’m going to show you what you’ve been missing.”

“Oh, are you?” 

Eliot raised an eyebrow at him, which got him a devilish little grin in response. This boy was going to be the absolute death of him.

Eliot had to reluctantly accept Quentin’s help getting the saddle on Bowie. In his defense, it had been years since he’d tried to ride a horse. Once they were all geared up and ready to go though, he climbed up on the saddle and followed Quentin’s lead into an open field off the side of the barn. Eliot was having a much easier time riding now with the saddle and the reins to use as his guide. This time, it really was like riding a bike as all of his familiar commands came back to him. 

They trotted along slowly at first, letting the horses wander across the field at a leisurely pace. The rhythmic gait of the horse and the wide open field in front of him felt unbelievably nice. Almost like some part of him that had been dormant was waking up and taking a deep, slow breath. 

He’d loved riding horses as a kid, and now he remembered why. This kind of escape just wasn’t something you could get in a city. It felt like everyone in LA was constantly doing this sort of choreographed dance. With so many people concentrated in one location, it was inevitable that your everyday movements would mold themselves around existing in that space, constricting every wild impulse until it was nothing more than an itch beneath your ribs that could never be scratched. It was true that LA afforded him a lot of opportunities, but it didn’t allow for this. This _freedom_. Eliot could practically feel himself getting lost in it. It felt like it was healing a part of him from the inside out that he hadn’t known was hurting.

Then, Quentin turned to him and said, “You remember that swimming hole at the bottom of the hill?”

It took Eliot a moment, but he did remember. He’d gone there a handful of times growing up on hot summer days. It was just a little secluded spot along the creek that was perfectly deep enough for swimming and jumping off some of the lower rocks.

“Yeah,” he said, curious where Quentin was going with this.

Quentin grinned at him. “I’ll race you.”

Eliot’s face lit up then, and he leveled Quentin with a challenging smirk. He said, “Come at me, Coldwater.”

Quentin kicked the sides of his horse and took off at a sprint, and Eliot called, “Cheater!”

He could hear Quentin’s unrepentant laugh, and he gave Bowie’s sides a kick as well. As they took off, he said, “Oh, it’s on.”

And if he’d thought casually strolling across the field was doing things to his psyche, the feeling of the wind against his skin as Bowie _ran_ was nothing short of life-altering. As they picked up more speed, he allowed himself to drop the tangled associations he had with this place and this feeling for just a moment and to just _be_. Quentin ended up beating him to the swimming hole, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

It had been a long time since he’d felt so simultaneously keyed up and at peace as they dismounted and tied their horses to a tree on the edge of the field. Quentin bumped his hip as they made their way to the side of the creek and shot him a grin.

“Someone’s gotten rusty,” he teased.

Eliot poked his side, which made Quentin jump and squirm to get away.

“Don’t get too cocky,” he warned. “That time was just practice.”

“Uh huh,” Quentin answered dismissively.

Eliot found a shaded spot on the rocks along the creek bed and dropped down to stretch out on it. It was a good thing he’d gone for a more casual dress that day because the thought of something that required dry cleaning touching the ground like this made him almost cringe. His jeans and dark red button up could handle it though. 

He tilted his head back until his face landed in a patch of sunlight and let the warm feeling sink in. Despite the damage it had definitely done to his skin, he’d always loved the feeling of the sun warming him to his bones. It made you feel the best kind of tired. When he brought his head back up and opened his eyes though, his lazy comfortable reminiscing was immediately banished at the sight of Quentin taking off his shirt.

Not that Eliot was _complaining_ , but his poor brain couldn’t process anything happening other than the smooth expanse of muscle and skin that was now on display. Quentin was strong in that subtle kind of way. He was small, but the hours spent working under the sun had clearly strengthened his back and shoulders, judging by the sight before Eliot now.

He cleared his throat. _Jesus Christ_ , he had to get ahold of himself.

“What are you doing?” he managed to ask, trying very hard for nonchalant.

Quentin shrugged as he rolled his shoulders, and Eliot’s eyes followed the movement. He looked over at Eliot and asked, “What? You didn’t think I came here just to look at the water, did you?”

Before Eliot could process that any further, Quentin stripped out of his jeans and boots and jumped into the creek, doing an honest to god cannonball. Eliot could only laugh as he watched Quentin come up for air and shake the water out of his hair.

“You’re crazy!” he shouted.

Quentin smiled at him, that devious little glint in his eyes lighting up.

“Come on in, Waugh,” he taunted. “The water’s fine.”

Eliot narrowed his eyes at him. He said, “Are you sure it isn’t _cold_ water?”

Quentin responded to his bad pun by splashing him, and Eliot laughed in surprise as he gasped against the unexpected spray.

“Oh, you little shit,” he said through his smile.

Quentin only shrugged at him as he started swimming further away. Eliot took one short moment to be outraged at himself for what he was about to do before throwing all caution to the wind. _What the hell_ , he thought.

He made a show of carefully unbuttoning his shirt and shucking off his jeans before following Quentin’s example and wading into the creek. The water was chilly, but it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable in the July heat. It was just this side of too cold before his body adjusted. Quentin looked very proud of himself once Eliot had waded out into the deeper part of the creek until he was treading water.

“See? Not so bad,” he said.

“Don’t speak too soon,” Eliot warned him. “You’re the one who’s gonna have to listen to me complain about my chafed ass after we ride our horses back like this.”

Quentin didn’t give his comment much validation, only shaking his head at him as he dove under the water. Eliot sank back into the creek, letting the water rise to his shoulders, as he adjusted to the temperature of it. This was reckless and impulsive and everything Eliot wasn’t allowed to be these days as a celebrity. 

It felt incredible.

When Quentin came up again, he had swam over to the creek’s edge and was climbing up on the rocks. Eliot tried not to let Quentin see how much he was enjoying watching the way his boxers clung to his skin, but like, _holy shit_ he definitely noticed and his mind was definitely going _places_. Quentin didn’t seem to be aware of what he was doing to Eliot though as he continued to climb until he reached a good jumping off point.

He stopped on the edge of the rock to look down at Eliot, who was currently giving the performance of his life with how well he was controlling his face.

Eliot asked him, “You gonna jump or just stand there and look pretty all day?”

Quentin’s cheeks flushed, and Eliot grinned at him. Two could certainly play this game.

“I’ll jump if you jump,” Quentin challenged him.

Eliot had jumped off higher rocks than this in his life, and they both knew it. Still, it had been awhile which had him a little hesitant. He did a careful evaluation of the trajectory from where Quentin was standing to the water below. It was barely five feet, and the center of the creek was certainly deep enough to not pose a risk of injury. 

“Come on, El,” Quentin called.

Eliot made the decision then and swam to the edge of the creek, smiling to himself at Quentin’s victorious little whoop. He was honestly such a nerd. Eliot dragged himself up onto the rocks and shivered at the air on his now cool skin. Quentin was still waiting for him as he climbed up to where he stood, and he gave Eliot a much softer smile, for all his teasing before.

“You ready?” he asked, quieter now that they were side by side.

They were standing extremely close as they both tried to fit on the rock, and Eliot couldn’t help that his eyes flicked down to Quentin’s lips. It’s just that they were wet from the creek and pursed just the slightest bit and Eliot’s mind was far too rebellious not to run away from him at the sight. Quentin didn’t break his gentle stare though.

Eliot told himself to pull it together once again and nodded at him.

“Okay,” Quentin said, “on three.”

They counted together with matching nervous smiles, “One, two,” and then they both jumped on, “three!”

The water was colder than he’d remembered, and they both came up laughing as they gasped for air. Despite all of that, though, Eliot couldn’t tear his eyes off of the beautiful boy in the creek beside him and his hair in his face and his goofy grin.

“See? That wasn’t so scary,” Quentin said, his brown eyes sparkling as he looked at him.

Eliot didn’t have a good answer for that because he was starting to think that Quentin didn’t know just how terrifying he was. Every single part of this was nothing short of a free fall for Eliot. 

Maybe it was time for a little bravery though.

The next few days were calmer by comparison to their impulsive swimming adventure. Quentin couldn’t shirk all of his responsibilities on the farm after all, and Eliot was finding ways to entertain himself as well. Mostly, he was helping Quentin with the old shed. He didn’t bother trying to explain himself to his grandma, but her knowing looks she kept shooting him as he disappeared to the barn each afternoon were enough to let him know that she had her opinions. Whatever. If he was stuck here, he might as well enjoy some of his time. If that meant painting a decrepit wooden shed with a cute boy, then that was what he was going to do.

He also just enjoyed Quentin’s company though. If Eliot had known people like Quentin existed in Indiana, he might have been inclined to visit more often because Quentin was smart and funny and he made Eliot question every preconceived notion he had about this place. He’d convinced himself years ago that the only thing he’d left behind was narrow-minded rednecks, but Quentin was decidedly not that. He was really doing a number on Eliot’s entire worldview, and it was kind of blowing his mind.

It was a few days into this new routine that his grandma mentioned to both of them that there was going to be a fundraiser the following night. The goal was to raise enough money for the town to buy back the rights to the land from the real estate developers, with this being a key event for the cause. It was an open mic night with drinks and catering from a local restaurant and seemed to promise a large turn out. She gave them a handful of flyers and sent them into town, and Eliot couldn’t find it in himself to argue with her. Realistic cause or not, there wasn’t any harm in it. Besides, he got to spend the day with Quentin not on the farm, which was enough motivation for him in and of itself.

The downtown area wasn’t exactly vast, but they still made an afternoon out of going from store to store and hanging up flyers on windows and lamp posts and even the occasional tree. At one point, they split up and raced each other around the courthouse to see who could hang up the most flyers around the building. Eliot would deign to say that the whole affair was even kind of fun.

There was another reason it took all day though. It was a small town, and Quentin seemed to know everyone in it. More than one shopkeeper had kept them busy for longer than necessary talking about crops and cattle and a million other things that Eliot opted to tune out. He may have been willing to help Quentin with the shed, but he was not about to let himself know a single thing about rotational grazing. The fact that he’d paid enough attention to hear that phrase at all was already far too much for him. The people in the town were surprisingly nice though, and he’d found himself reluctantly charmed by the easy way Quentin chatted with all of them like they were old friends. Eliot would have made no effort to know anyone if he lived in a place like this.

By the time the sun was beginning to set, he was pleasantly tired as they climbed back into Quentin’s truck. It was a nicer truck than the one Todd had picked him up in. Clearly, Quentin actually took care of it. It was still modest though and just the sort of thing he would have expected Quentin to drive.

When they made it back to the dirt road leading up to Eliot’s grandma’s house, Quentin turned to him with a curious expression.

“Why don’t you ever drive your grandma’s truck into town?” he asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you leave the farm once since you got here.”

Eliot was quick to respond, “Why would I willingly choose to do anything in this town?”

Quentin ignored his reflexive comment with a small laugh and said, “I mean, it’s gotta be better than being stuck at home all day.”

Eliot looked out the window at the darkening sky as he quietly admitted, “I don’t know how to drive a standard.”

“What?” Quentin asked.

Eliot turned to him with a faux scowl. “I _said_ her truck is a standard, and I never learned how to drive one.”

Quentin looked genuinely confused at that. He asked, “How did you grow up on a farm and never learn how to drive stick?”

Eliot said, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I wasn’t exactly very _good_ at farm work.”

Quentin stared at him for a minute before putting the truck in gear and bringing it to a stop in the middle of the road. Eliot looked around.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Quentin opened the door and, to Eliot’s great confusion, walked around to his side of the truck.

“Get in the driver’s seat,” Quentin told him. “I’m going to teach you how to drive a stick shift.”

Eliot laughed at him in disbelief for a second before Quentin gestured again, and he reluctantly slid over to the driver’s side. Quentin climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door behind him.

“Okay, just a fair warning, I’m going to really suck at this,” Eliot said.

Quentin gave him a gentle smile and said, “That’s okay. Now, put your foot on the clutch.”

Eliot did as he was told and let Quentin walk him through getting the engine started. That alone was a small victory. He brought his hand to rest uncertainly on the gear shift, and Quentin told him, “Okay, now put it in first.”

Eliot raised an eyebrow at him. “First?”

Quentin batted his hand away to maneuver the gear shift for him before saying, “Okay, there, now hit the gas. Slowly.”

Eliot took his foot off the clutch and pressed down on the gas, only for them to move about two feet before they came to a screeching halt, slinging them both forward.

“What did I do?!” Eliot asked. 

Quentin was laughing at him, which made Eliot’s shock turn into a glare. Which only made Quentin laugh harder.

“You killed the transmission,” he explained, with a smile still on his face. “It’s okay, let’s go again.”

By the third try, Quentin seemed to accept that there was no hope of Eliot learning where the gears were without help. So, as if he weren’t short circuiting Eliot’s entire brain, he brought his hand to rest right on top of Eliot’s on the gear shift. Eliot looked up at him, but Quentin didn’t look his way as he slid their fingers together around the knob.

“Okay, you just hit the clutch when I tell you to, and I’ll take care of the shifting,” he instructed.

Eliot nodded, unable to really articulate much else at that moment. He wondered if Quentin knew how many people had managed to render Eliot Waugh speechless by literally holding his hand because it was an exclusive club with literally only one member in it. 

They made it about halfway to his grandma’s house before Eliot killed the transmission again and his patience with the whole ordeal was wearing thin.

“It’s okay,” Quentin told him, clearly sensing his frustration. He squeezed Eliot’s hand. “We all have to start somewhere.”

“I guess,” Eliot mumbled in the dark cab, not quite willing to admit to his genuine embarrassment at not being able to do this one thing. It was just driving a truck, not a skill Eliot needed in his day to day life. Still, he didn’t like not being good at things.

Quentin gently asked, “Why don’t I drive you the rest of the way home?” 

Eliot was happy enough to oblige as Quentin climbed out of the cab for him to scoot back into the passenger’s seat. Honestly, he knew he wasn’t going to retain a single thing from that little driving lesson. He was, however, going to have dreams about the way Quentin’s hand had fit over his, and he couldn’t even find it in himself to feel ridiculous about it. That was just how much of an effect the boy had on him. The great Eliot Waugh, reduced to losing his mind over holding a boy’s hand.

They made it to his grandma’s driveway much faster with Quentin driving, and Eliot found himself wishing he had an excuse to prolong their time together as he put the truck in park. 

He glanced at the house, porch light left on for him glowing in the night, then back at Quentin, who was watching him carefully.

“I had a nice time today,” he said.

Quentin gave him a relieved smile, like he’d been holding his breath.

“Me too,” he replied.

They looked at each other for a moment longer before Eliot cleared his throat and placed his hand on the door handle.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at the fundraiser,” he said.

“Yeah,” Quentin answered, sounding just as reluctant. “See you.”

Eliot gave him a little smile and a wave as he exited the truck and made his way up to the porch. Quentin still hadn’t driven off yet when he made it to the door, so Eliot gave him one last wave before stepping inside the house. As soon as he shut the door, he leaned his back against it. He flexed his hand at his side, letting himself recall the way it had felt with Quentin’s wrapped around it. God, what was his problem? He was acting like a teenager with their first crush. 

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice that Quentin still hadn’t driven off yet. 

It was only when there was a sharp knock on the door behind him that he jumped, his mind being forced back into the present. He peeked out the window, noting that Quentin’s truck was still in the driveway. He hurriedly opened the door and looked down to see Quentin standing in front of him, nervously looking around the porch.

“Did you forget something?” he asked.

Quentin met his eyes, and he still looked nervous but also determined.

“Yeah, this,” he said.

Before Eliot could even guess what was coming, Quentin leaned up on tiptoes and kissed him. It was short and sweet, just long enough for Eliot to get with the program and bring his hands up to cup Quentin’s face. Then, way too soon, Quentin pulled away and took a step back, and Eliot’s hands fell at his sides. With barely a foot separating them, he felt absolutely bereft as he stared down at Quentin’s little satisfied smile.

“Goodnight, Eliot,” he said.

Eliot could barely get a word out, his mind still replaying the last few seconds and the way Quentin’s lips felt and tasted against his own. 

A little breathless, he managed to reply, “Goodnight, Q.”

Quentin ducked his head with a grin, and his cheeks were tinged pink as he turned and walked down the stairs. He waved at Eliot one last time before climbing into his truck and driving off. 

And Eliot… was so far gone.

Half in a daze, he turned off the porch light and locked the door behind him before going upstairs to his room. He sat down on the edge of his bed, looking at the space around him, and let out a startled little laugh. 

Quentin had just _kissed him_.

While he was getting ready to crawl into bed later that night, his mind still spinning, he noticed something as he pilfered through his suitcase for clean pajamas. His Hale suitcase hadn’t been opened since he’d set it down on the floor that first day. It was still standing there, fully zipped and packed to the brim with designer clothes and stage makeup that he hadn’t needed once since he got here. As he stood up to turn off the light, he heaved the suitcase up and onto the top shelf of the closet.

He shut the door behind him and crawled into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: I don't know shit about driving a standard because my one attempt at learning was pretty much exactly what I wrote for Eliot in this chapter, so I'm pretty sure any details provided in that scene are Incorrect.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you not familiar with the movie, the song playing when they dance is Crazier by Taylor Swift and it's so relevant to this situation that it makes me cry.

The next day passed so slowly that Eliot thought he was going to lose his mind. 

Quentin wasn’t at the farm all day because he apparently had other things to do, and Eliot was counting down the hours until the fundraiser was set to begin. When his grandma told him she needed help setting up, he jumped on it so fast that she looked at him like he was crazy.

“Didn’t think you’d be so eager to spend more time in a barn,” she said.

He shrugged. “I’m just being a good grandson,” he replied.

“Uh huh,” she said, looking at him with a knowing smirk, “I’m sure it has nothing to do with a certain boy you’re excited to see.”

Eliot didn’t dignify that with a response, which only made her laugh at him.

“This house has windows, you know,” she said pointedly.

He groaned, “Oh my god.”

He did agree to help her in the end though. After a solid hour of hanging fairy lights and setting up borrowed chairs and tables, the barn in question looked a lot like the kind of place that could host an open mic night. A few of his grandmother’s friends had unfortunately recognized him along the way, which meant he’d had to endure some mind numbing small talk of the ‘ _I remember when you were just a little boy_ ’ variety, but it was all worth it when the place started to fill with people and the drinks started flowing. He would even dare to say it looked nice.

Eliot had taken up residence with his grandma and a handful of her friends at a table near the stage, but he wasn’t taking part in any of their gossipy discussions. Instead, he was watching the entrance like a hawk. 

That was why it was such a surprise to him that in the one moment he’d gotten distracted by Todd onstage attempting to sing Sweet Home Alabama, there was a tap on his shoulder. He was clapping as the song concluded, mostly because it was finally fucking over, when he turned around to see Quentin standing behind him.

He was in dark wash skinny jeans and a deliciously fitted black button up. His hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and he had the cutest little grin on his face. _Oh_ , Eliot just wanted to _devour_ him. Instead, he simply grinned as he placed his elbow on the top of the back of his chair.

“Well, if it isn’t Quentin Coldwater,” he said, as if he wasn’t the one person Eliot had been looking for all night.

Quentin’s face lit up in a shy smile then, and he said, “It’s me, and uh, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to dance?”

He held out his hand as a young blonde girl took the stage, a guitar slung around her neck, and the man with the microphone said they were getting ready to slow things down. Eliot had never been the type to do cheesy things like slow dance to a country song, but like hell was he going to say no to this. So, he placed his hand in Quentin’s and allowed himself to be led to the open area designated for dancing. There were a handful of couples already swaying along as the opening chords from the guitar floated through the room, so Eliot slotted his fingers between Quentin’s and brought his other arm up to snake it around his waist. Quentin placed his free hand on Eliot’s shoulder and moved in close.

“Missed you today,” Eliot said, once Quentin was close enough for him to duck his head and speak quietly above his ear.

Quentin laughed in response and looked up at Eliot, all bright eyes and dimpled cheeks.

“It’s been less than 24 hours since you saw me,” he pointed out.

“Are you really going to make me defend myself here?” Eliot asked, voice full of mock offense. He tightened his grip on Quentin’s waist, which Quentin responded to by shuffling in closer.

“I suppose not,” he shrugged, then he admitted quietly, “because I missed you too.”

They started to sway along while the young girl crooned into the microphone, and Eliot closed his eyes as he leaned his chin against the top of Quentin’s head. It was amazing how well they fit like this. Quentin was tucked up against his chest and in his arms like he was meant to be there, the perfect height for Eliot to turn his head and press a soft kiss into the skin of his forehead. Quentin sighed contentedly and leaned his face against Eliot’s neck. 

Eliot’s mind was racing with a million thoughts about what all of this meant after their kiss last night and what was going to happen next, but he allowed his heart to silence them for the moment at least. Just this once, he could turn off his overthinking and just be Eliot, who was dancing with a beautiful boy, and nothing more than that.

He couldn’t help but let his mind wander elsewhere though as they continued to sway along. Specifically, and against his will, he was thinking back to the young boy he’d once been in this place, who never would have imagined himself openly dancing with another boy like this. 

He’d been in this barn before actually. It was owned by a local prominent family and was often used for church youth group events back when he was a teenager forced to go to those kinds of things. Those memories, despite how much he’d tried to repress them, were still there. For a sickening moment, he could hear the echoes of it all in his mind. All of the preachers telling him he would never be enough without God’s forgiveness. All of the ‘ _isn’t she a pretty girl, Eliot?_ and ‘ _everyone has sinful thoughts, but you shouldn’t act on them_ ’ and all of the not so subtle glances thrown his way any time the subject of homosexuality was brought up. 

The world had changed, but this was still Indiana. It was still the place where he’d been teased and bullied and ultimately driven out because he wasn’t allowed to just be himself. The fact that he had someone like Quentin in his arms in the middle of a barn in his hometown years later was nothing short of a miracle. They spun around, and he caught his grandma’s eye over Quentin’s shoulder. He froze for just a second, gut instinct taking over, but then she smiled and he relaxed. Right here and now, none of that noise from the past mattered. This was okay. _He_ was okay. 

He sighed as he pressed his lips to the top of Quentin’s head. He was more than okay. Thank god for the fact that some things change.

The song came to an end in what felt like the blink of an eye, and he felt an easy smile spread across his face as Quentin took a step back to look up at him, his hand still in Eliot’s. He was seriously just about to ask if Quentin wanted to leave, despite the fact that he’d just gotten there. They could go back to Eliot’s childhood bedroom in his grandmother’s house, and he could kiss Quentin senseless like nothing else in the world mattered and take his time showing him just what this moment meant to him. It was pretty much the only thing on Eliot’s mind.

Quentin, however, was looking at him with a devious little grin. 

“It’s an open mic night, you know,” he said. “You should sing something.”

Eliot laughed, “Uh, I don’t think so. I’m really not that good.”

“Oh, come on,” Quentin argued, squeezing his hand. “We both know that’s not true.”

There was a silence in the barn as the announcer was still asking who wanted to come up next. Before Eliot could stop him, Quentin cupped his free hand around his mouth and yelled, “Eliot wants to!”

Eliot pulled his hand down as he shushed him, but it was already far too late. Everyone in the room was cheering and looking at them, and the announcer with the mic was calling him onstage. He glared at Quentin.

“I hate you,” he said.

Quentin beamed back at him and said, “No, you don’t.”

No, he didn’t. He did have to go onstage and sing now though. With a reluctant sigh, mostly just for show, he dropped Quentin’s hand and made his way up to the microphone. It’s not like being onstage was an out of the ordinary experience for him, but being onstage as Eliot definitely was. It was just another crowd though, and he knew what to do with crowds.

He brought the mic to his lips. 

“Any Dixie Chicks fans here tonight?” he asked.

There were several cheers in response, so he grinned as he accepted a guitar from someone behind him. If there was one thing he could do, it was put on a show.

So, he did exactly that.

He was not ashamed to admit that he still knew every word to Long Time Gone, and he had the whole barn on their feet clapping and singing along as he belted it out. It might not have been his usual crowd or tempo, but the thrill was still the same. Eliot was a performer, and it was in his blood. He finished with a bow as he handed the guitar back to its owner, and there was a proud smile on Quentin’s face when Eliot found him in the crowd. 

He allowed himself to soak up the praise for a few seconds before he started to make his way off the stage. It was at that moment though that someone walked through the doors of the barn, and his grandma’s voice rang above the crowd.

“You’ve got some nerve showing up here!”

All heads turned to see Everett, the real estate developer, standing next to their fundraiser progress sign.

“Isn’t this event open to the public?” he asked, a smarmy smile on his face.

“Not to you, it isn’t,” she replied.

Several people in the crowd yelled to back her up, and Everett just laughed.

“What did you all raise here tonight?” he asked, gesturing at the sign behind him. “$1,000? $2,000? Whatever it is, it won’t be enough. You all are batting way out of your league.”

Eliot felt his blood boiling as he stared at the man. It’s not like he held a lot of love for this podunk town in his heart, but he’d seen how hard everyone had worked to pull this off. Hell, he’d worked pretty hard on it himself. If bringing the community together to save something they loved was important to someone like his grandma, then how dare this guy show up and throw the futility of it back in their faces?

Before Eliot knew what was happening, Todd ran past him and onto the stage. Eliot watched as he grabbed the microphone off the stand.

He yelled, “Eliot knows Hale!”

The crowd turned their eyes to him then, and he felt his heart drop to the floor. Todd continued, “They’re practically best friends back in LA. He could get him to come out here and do a concert for us as a fundraiser, and we’d definitely make enough money then!”

People started cheering, and Everett actually looked a little caught off guard by the idea. Eliot had no idea what to do. He looked at his grandmother, who was shaking her head at him with wide eyes. Then he looked at Quentin, who seemed more surprised than anything else. Todd was holding out the mic to him, and he swallowed roughly as he took it. Everyone looked so hopeful, and he did have his Hale ensemble with him. It’s not like it would be that much of a stretch to pull it off.

“I guess I could give him a call,” he said into the microphone.

The crowd erupted into a wild cheer then, and he could barely meet his grandma’s eyes as she shook her head at him. Fucking Todd. This was going to be a nightmare to explain to his manager.

Several phone calls and a day later, there was a black limo pulling up in his grandmother’s drive. Eliot stood nervously at the door as first Fogg and then Jane stepped out of it. 

“The optics on this are genius, Eliot,” Jane was already chattering as she pulled her suitcase out of the trunk. “I can see the headlines now. Rockstar ‘Hale’ Saves Small Town!”

Fogg seemed less excited as he pulled out a black duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder.

“You were supposed to be lying low,” he said.

Eliot grimaced. He said, “I’m sorry?”

Fogg sighed theatrically. He said, “Let’s just get through this.” 

They both scurried past him and into his grandmother’s house, and Eliot waited for the last guest to step out of the limo. When she did, he gave her a tentative grin.

“This is wild, Eliot. Even for you,” Margo said.

She placed a hand on her hip, but she flashed him a brilliant smile too. He ran down the stairs and wrapped her up in his arms.

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re here,” he said into her hair.

She patted him on the back before stepping out of his embrace. She was never really a hugger, but he didn’t even care. He was just so glad she’d picked up the phone.

“Of course I came,” she said. “I couldn’t let you crash and burn out here on your own.”

He sighed in relief. “I’m sorry for what happened at your party,” he said. “I tried to call you before I left, but I didn’t have any service once I got here.”

She waved her hand at him and shook her head. She said, “Please, I’m over it, but I’m sorry too. I never should have talked to that reporter. He just grabbed me when I was leaving the club, and I was so pissed at you, it just slipped out.”

Eliot took a step back and looked at her. “ _You’re_ the one who talked to that reporter?!” he asked.

“Maybe?” she winced.

He sighed, “He followed me all the way out here, Margo. How could you do something like that?”

“I thought we were having a mutual forgiveness moment!” she half yelled, throwing out her hands. “You ruined my birthday, and I accidentally told a reporter an intimate detail about your life. We’re both sorry!”

He glowered at her. The two crimes were hardly equal, but it’s not like he could do anything about it now. The worst had been averted, and she was his best friend. There wasn’t any question about what he was going to say to her.

“It’s okay,” he said, and her shoulders slumped in relief. “You’re right. We both fucked up.”

She rushed forward again to wrap him up in a tight hug, and he squeezed her back.

“Now that that’s settled,” she said, “you can carry my bag to my room. I can’t wait to see this town we’re here to save.”

She patted his arm as she passed, and he heard his grandma welcoming her as she stepped inside the house, ever the picture of midwestern hospitality. He reluctantly grabbed her suitcase out of the trunk of the limo and dragged it inside to his room, which they would be sharing, because this wasn’t the fucking Taj Mahal.

When he came back downstairs, it was to the bizarre image of Margo standing in his grandmother’s kitchen sipping a glass of sweet tea and laughing at something she’d said. 

Margo Hanson, in his hometown in Indiana talking to his family, was a reality he’d never prepared himself for. For all the glitz and glam she carried herself with, it didn’t feel like she should exist here. The whole world should fold itself around her and create a pocket catered to her very essence because that’s just who she was. Eliot had never really shaken the dust from this place off of his back, try as he might, but she had always existed outside of it. As he stood on the bottom step and watched though, he found himself surprised that it didn’t feel as wrong as he thought it maybe should. She had been his family for a long time now, so maybe it only made sense for her to slot into this puzzle like the missing piece.

His existential crisis was temporarily diverted when Jane flitted in from the living room, an excited buzz in her step. She looked like that special brand of chaotic she got when she had a plan up her sleeve and probably had also drank a few coffees on the flight over. Eliot knew well enough to brace himself for whatever had caused it.

“Oh, good, you’re here!” she said, spotting him lurking. “I just got off the phone with the mayor of this charming little town, and they would like to throw a dinner in your honor to thank you for coming! Isn’t that great?”

He cleared his throat, almost laughing as he thought about the irony of such a thing. Eliot being welcomed back to his hometown like a hero was something only his wildest acid trips could have come up with. Jane was still looking at him expectantly though, so he just nodded his head.

“Yeah, whatever, sounds good,” he said. 

“Great! I’ll take care of everything,” she promised him in a rush as she started typing away on her phone. 

She disappeared back into the living room where she’d come from, and he made his way into the kitchen where he’d originally been headed. Margo looked up when she saw him and said, “Your grandma was just telling me about all the baby pictures of you she has around here.”

He glared at her first then at his grandma, who only gave him a challenging smirk in response. Lord help him, he was surrounded by women who had it out for him. He loved them though. So much. So, he only shook his head and replied, “There’s gotta be a hotel in town that has open rooms.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Margo said.

And yeah, okay, he wouldn’t. 

His grandma held out a glass of tea for him, which he accepted. Truthfully, he hadn’t drank very much iced tea in recent years. He knew better than to turn down the staple beverage here though. He dropped into a seat at the table and took a sip as his grandma excused herself to go bother Fogg and Jane. She could never leave a guest in her house unattended for very long. 

Margo sat her glass down on the table to join him, but then to his surprise, she hurried past him over to the window.

“You didn’t tell me there were cute cowboys here,” she accused.

Eliot followed her gaze out the window and spotted Quentin walking by in a dusty white t-shirt and jeans tucked into his boots. He laughed to himself.

“Down girl,” he said, “I’ve called dibs on that one.”

She turned back to him, interest clearly piqued, and raised an artfully sculpted eyebrow.

“Oh?” she asked.

He looked past her and watched Quentin for a moment until he disappeared out of sight. He frowned.

“I don’t know, it’s complicated,” he admitted.

Eliot wasn’t stupid. He knew that something had been growing between the two of them between all the shared smiles and horseback rides and time spent together on the farm. Then Quentin had kissed him, and they’d had that moment at the fundraiser dance. He just didn’t know what any of it meant. Maybe Eliot was just a novelty, a strange boy from the city, that had caught Q’s eye. It made a certain kind of sense. 

The stubborn little part of Eliot’s mind just kept refuting that though. Quentin never treated him like a strange boy from the city. He looked at Eliot like he saw him, _really_ saw him. He’d known Eliot at five years old, Indiana born and raised, and he knew Eliot now, the prodigal son returned, and he still looked at him like he was just. Eliot. 

But what good was any of that when Eliot was going to be on a plane and back to LA in less than a week? It was just a little fling, and there was no way Quentin was really thinking it could be more. Even if the idea of leaving Q behind for his celebrity life he’d created for himself made him feel like he was cutting off one of his own limbs, it was the truth of the situation. It was better for both of them if he reminded himself of that.

“What’s complicated about it?” Margo asked him, turning fully to face him then. “He’s hot, and you’ve been stuck here for a week and a half. Please tell me you’ve banged him by now or I’m going to be extremely disappointed.”

He scoffed at her. She was as crude as ever, and he would never change it for the world.

“No, I haven’t,” he told her, “and I’m not going to. Quentin is… different.”

He’d definitely thought about it. He could make this a one and done kind of thing, and Q would probably even let him. But.

The amused smirk dropped from her face then as she really looked at him.

“Oh shit,” she said, “don’t tell me you’ve gone and caught feelings for some Indiana farm boy.”

And there it was. He _had_ gone and caught feelings for the little nerd, and that was exactly why he couldn’t do this. It could never be just a fun little hook up for him because letting himself have Quentin and then having to leave him could only end one way, and he had just enough self-preservation to not subject himself to it.

“It’s fine,” he told her, even though it definitely wasn’t. “We’ll be back in LA soon, and this can be a cute little story we never talk about again.”

Margo’s face went through a few complicated emotions as she looked at him before finally settling on a mischievous smile. 

“What?” he asked her, a grin growing on his own face. He loved nothing more than a scheming Margo.

“Maybe Eliot is torturing himself,” she said, her smile bleeding into her voice, “but who says Hale can’t have a little fun? Quentin hasn’t met him yet.”

That was a _terrible_ idea, just objectively. Eliot was already thinking about it though as soon as it left her mouth. He could so easily dress up as Hale and indulge in some harmless flirting. Hale’s layers would take away the big messy feelings of it all for both of them, which was exactly what needed to happen. Maybe it would even sway Q away from any ideas he had about Eliot if he had enough fun with Hale. It was a win win. 

“Margo, you’re a genius,” he told her.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and smiled at him. She said, “I know.”

In practically no time at all, he was standing in front of a full length mirror admiring his easy transition into Hollywood rockstar, Hale. His curls were loose around his face, and he was wearing fitted grey pants with a white button up, a grey vest, and an embroidered dark green suit jacket. It was definitely overkill to be stepping out on the farm in, but that was the Hale brand, wasn’t it? It was Eliot’s personality dialed up to eleven in all situations to the point that Eliot was no longer recognizable at all. It was a persona he’d perfected, and he wore it well.

He held out his hand for the non-prescription glasses Margo was offering him, and the look was complete.

“Let’s go find your boy,” she said, hands on her hips and a smile on her face in the mirror behind him.

So they did just that, and when they found him working on some kind of farm equipment that Eliot didn’t care to give a name to, he was looking very cute and flustered in the summer heat. Eliot cleared his throat.

“Oh, hi, Hale,” Quentin said.

He fumbled as he quickly stood up and brushed off his jeans. Eliot could barely conceal his smile. He held out a hand, which Quentin shook.

“I’m, uh, Quentin,” he said.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Eliot drawled, careful to keep his accent in check as he gave him a slow, deliberate once over. He gestured over his shoulder and said, “This is Margo, my personal assistant.”

“Executive assistant,” she amended, and Eliot rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, sure,” he said airily, which did make Quentin laugh. He turned around and asked her, “Don’t you have some executive duties to attend to? Inside the house?”

She glared at him, which he matched with a glare of his own. She broke first as she huffed and turned around. 

“Come find me when you’re done with the poor boy,” she told him pointedly over her shoulder.

After she left, Quentin kind of awkwardly looked around for a second, and Eliot let him squirm a bit as he watched in appreciation. His little nerd was so delightfully and easily flustered, and he loved it.

No, _not his_ nerd, he reminded himself. That was the point of all this after all.

“It’s really great that you came out here on such short notice,” Quentin finally said, the silence stretching on too long for him. “We really appreciate it.”

“Eliot’s a good friend,” he shrugged. “It was no problem. Besides, I’m starting to see why he’s been hiding out here lately.”

Quentin rubbed the back of his neck as he turned around to look across the yard, making his shirt ride up enough for Eliot to glimpse a little skin along his waistline. He allowed himself a short glance before quickly looking away as Quentin turned back to face him.

“Yeah, uh, speaking of,” Quentin said, “have you seen El anywhere today?”

Eliot laughed lightly as he asked, “You’re looking for Eliot right now?”

Quentin gave him a very lovely and placating smile as he answered, “No offense, I’m sure you’re a catch. It’s just, well, Eliot…”

He trailed off like he wasn’t sure how much he should be saying, and Eliot felt his heart stutter in his chest. This was not the direction this venture was supposed to be going in at all.

“Hey, uh, you know Eliot pretty well, right?” Quentin asked, switching tracks so quickly it was giving him whiplash.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he replied.

Quentin shifted from one foot to the other as he fidgeted with his hair, pushing the loose strands back behind his ear.

“Okay, I know this is crazy, but do you think he would say yes if I asked him out? Like, on a real date?” he asked finally. Eliot felt like the ground had dropped out from underneath him, and he couldn’t even answer before Quentin kept talking. “It’s just, I know he’s got a whole life out in LA, and I’m just some guy he barely knows. He probably has a boyfriend or something back home, but I figured you’d know if it was worth a shot to even try.”

Eliot stared, mouth open for a few seconds, before he could bring himself to say, “You really want to go on a date with Eliot? Like, for real?”

“Yeah?” Quentin asked, sounding uncertain. “Eliot is just...so different from anyone else I’ve ever met. I can’t let him leave without at least telling him how I feel.”

Eliot nodded carefully as he took a deep breath. And he made a decision. Screw all of the consequences, honestly. He was so tired of having to think five steps ahead and calculate his every move. Quentin was right here, telling him that he wanted him, _him_ as in Eliot from Indiana and not the version of himself he’d covered in layers of fame and pretension in an attempt to be wanted by anyone. He couldn’t be expected to be strong enough to walk away from this, and just this once, he didn’t want to.

So, he said, “I think you should ask him.”

He felt like a weight was lifted off his chest after he said it, only to be replaced by the unsteady lightness as the nerves practically danced across his skin. The hopeful look lighting up Quentin’s face rooted him to the spot though.

“Really?” he asked. “I mean, okay. If you think so.”

“I do,” Eliot nodded, “and when I talked to him earlier, he mentioned something about going down to the barn, so you might find him there.”

Quentin smiled at him and said, “Okay, thanks! I’m going to go do that, right now.”

Eliot stayed there for about two seconds after Quentin turned to walk away before full on sprinting into the house. His grandmother asked, “Where’s the fire?” as he passed, but he just made an unintelligible noise in response before running up the stairs.

Margo looked up from the foot of his bed when he flung open the door with a curious expression.

“What the hell happened?” she asked.

Eliot was already throwing clothes onto the bed as fast as he could get them off of his body and reaching for his outfit from that morning. Margo, to her credit, was accustomed to his chaos enough to start helping without an explanation.

“Change of plans,” he said. “I’ll tell you later. I gotta go.”

Once he was settled back into his Eliot look, hair pulled back into a low bun and glasses free, he kissed her on the forehead before bolting out the door.

“Okay!” she called, an amused lilt to her voice.

Eliot made it across the yard and behind the barn at record speed. He’d just grabbed a paint brush and dipped it into a nearby can when he heard Quentin calling his name.

“I’m over here!” he yelled.

Quentin rounded the corner and stopped, a smile lighting up his face when he saw Eliot turning to roll the paintbrush over the shed.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Eliot shrugged, trying to slow down his racing heart. “I thought I’d get a start on this second coat,” he said. “The peaches and plums await, after all.”

Quentin huffed out a laugh as he crossed over to pick up the other brush and dip it into the can as well.

“So, uh, I was talking to your friend Hale,” he said.

“Oh really?” Eliot asked.

“Yeah,” Quentin said. He was quiet for a second, and Eliot held his breath. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, and he said I should do it, so I figured, why the fuck not?”

He was rambling, and Eliot was utterly unable to find it anything other than endearing. 

“Ask away,” he said flippantly.

Quentin dropped the hand holding the brush to his side, turning to face him fully.

“Okay, look, I know you’re going back to LA soon, so maybe this is stupid, but I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner with me tonight? Like, as a date?” he asked.

Eliot paused his painting to turn and look at Q, a smile playing on his lips.

“I’d like that,” he said.

“Really?” Quentin asked.

“Yeah,” Eliot agreed.

Quentin looked like he was fighting back a smile so big it could take over his whole face. He said, “Okay.”

Then they turned back to the shed and carried on with the second coat. If the afternoon ended with both of them covered in paint and a few shared kisses against the old oak tree behind the barn, then that was perfectly fine with them. Screw his paint covered clothes. Eliot had a date with Quentin, and nothing could bring him down from that high.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand shit gets real

Eliot was grateful, far from the first or the last time, for Margo Hanson.

Sure, she’d laughed her ass off when he’d told her that Quentin had rejected Hale’s advances, but now she was standing in the trenches with him as they set out on the monumental task of finding the perfect outfit for their dinner date. 

“What about this one? You look great in a blazer,” she said, holding up one of his favorite Hale pieces.

He ran his hand through his hair, pushing it off of his forehead, before letting it fall again as he considered it.

“No,” he decided, “it’s too LA. Q’s not into all that.”

“But you are,” she pointed out.

He chewed on his lower lip, not sure what to do with that. Instead of responding, he reached for a dark blue button up shirt with tiny white dots. It was from his Hale wardrobe as well but on the less flashier side of the spectrum.

“I’m thinking this one,” he said.

Margo nodded her head as she looked it over. She agreed, “That could work.”

Just as he was laying it out in his ‘yes’ pile, there was a knock on the open door behind him. He and Margo both turned their heads to see Jane standing in the doorway.

“Oh good,” she said, “I was just coming up here to tell you to get dressed.”

“For what?” Eliot asked skeptically.

“The mayor’s dinner, of course,” she said.

Margo asked, “The what now?”

Eliot looked between her and Margo as a somewhat frantic laugh escaped his lips. He said, “You never told me that was tonight.”

“Oh, must have slipped my mind,” Jane shrugged. “Anyways, we need to be at the city hall in an hour, so chop chop!”

She flitted off with a smile, already pulling her phone out of her pocket, as Eliot watched helplessly. He turned back to Margo.

“Q is expecting me to be at dinner in an hour,” he said.

Margo asked, “What are you gonna do?”

That was the fucking question, wasn’t it?

At the end of the day, Eliot had known what he was doing when he’d created Hale. His public persona was to be a character comprised of only his best parts; fake but necessary. He was a way for Eliot and all of his inadequacies to still exist without derailing his own life. Eliot had been warned there would be sacrifices for the kind of secrecy that choice required, if not early on then later down the line. He’d gone ahead anyways though because at the end of the day, it was the best way forward to give him the life he so desperately wanted. Or rather, both lives. So, the decision between Hale and Eliot’s dreams was an easy one, because he wasn’t going to choose at all.

He was going to have the best of both fucking worlds like always.

So, it played out a little like this.

At 6pm, Eliot was in a car on his way to city hall.

At 6:15pm, Quentin walked into a cafe.

Eliot was welcomed to the mayor’s dinner with all the grandeur and ceremony one could expect from Fairmount, Indiana. Which is to say, they had put their best white table cloths down over dingy brown folding tables and gathered in the meeting room of the city hall, which needed a new coat of paint decades ago.

“We’re humbled and honored that you came all this way to help us out. I know someone as famous as yourself must have a busy schedule,” the mayor laughed, eliciting a chuckle from the others around the room.

Eliot smiled. He said, “Really, it’s no problem. I’m glad that I can help.”

He glanced at the clock behind the mayor’s head. He counted down in his head until the second hand reached the twelve, and then his phone rang. Jane and Fogg’s heads both turned to him in horror as he reached inside his pocket apologetically.

He made a show of looking at the caller id quickly before shielding it from anyone else’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he said to the room, “family emergency. I have to take this, but I’ll be right back.”

“Of course! By all means,” the mayor replied.

He gave the room a gracious smile before darting out into the hall, Margo hot on his heels.

“Saved by the bell,” he muttered under his breath as they descended the stairs of the old building. He turned over his shoulder with a grin, “Thanks, Bambi.”

She responded by shoving him inside a closet on the landing between the first and second floors.

“Just hurry up and change!” she said.

He closed the door behind him and did as she asked. They’d scoped out this supply closet beforehand, and it only took him seconds now to peel away and store his layers, pull back his hair, and be on his way out the door. He kissed Margo on the top of the head.

“Cover for me?” he asked.

“You got it,” she replied. 

He grinned over his shoulder at her as he descended the rest of the stairs. Luckily for him, downtown Fairmount was basically just one big square that contained nearly every business and restaurant in the town. That meant it was a short walk from city hall to the cafe where Quentin was waiting for him. He arrived by 6:30pm.

He took a deep breath and opened the door. The cafe was busy with the dinner rush filling every corner of the room, but he spotted Quentin sitting at a table for two near the back. There was a single rose sitting on the table in front of him, and his eyes were searching the room. When they locked with Eliot’s, Eliot felt his heart melt and a smile spread across his face.

Quentin stood when Eliot reached him, and Eliot leaned down to kiss his cheek.

“Hi,” he said.

Quentin grinned at him. He said, “Hey.”

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Eliot replied as they both sat down, scraping metal chairs across linoleum.

“Don’t worry about it, I was early,” Quentin replied.

He picked up the rose, twirling it between his fingers nervously as Eliot watched, helplessly enamoured. Then he held it out to Eliot.

“I know it’s cheesy, but uh, this is for you,” he said.

Eliot took it from him and brought the flower to his nose, closing his eyes as he inhaled the sweet scent. Then he sat it on the table to his left and smiled.

“It’s not cheesy,” he said, “I love it.”

Quentin gave him a relieved little smile as they both opened their menus to order. Maybe it was a little cheesy, but far be it from Eliot to tell him that. No one had ever given Eliot flowers before, aside from Margo, who sent a bouquet to his dressing room before most big shows. It was an unbearably sweet gesture, and Eliot wanted nothing more than to abandon the whole dinner date in favor of kissing him for the rest of the night to show his gratitude. That wasn’t how dignified adults went on dates though, so he kept his feelings on the issue close to his chest as they both ordered and settled into a comfortable silence.

Well, it would have been comfortable if Quentin wasn’t fidgeting like he was about to have a panic attack. 

Eliot reached across the table for his hand, and Quentin met his eyes with a soft look as he settled and tangled their fingers together.

“I’m really glad you asked me here,” Eliot told him.

Quentin squeezed his hand and replied, “I’m really glad you said yes.”

“Of course you are,” Eliot bluffed, “I’m a catch.”

Their waitress chose that moment to interrupt and take their orders, which meant Eliot only got a laugh and an eye roll in response to that. As soon as she left, he sat back in his chair, giving Quentin a lazy once over. He was wearing clean black skinny jeans and a maroon button up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. For a boy who knew how to get dirty on the farm, he really cleaned up nice. He wouldn’t even look out of place with Eliot’s LA crowd like this.

“So, speaking of all that,” Quentin started, looking up at him with a nervous little grin.

“Of me being a catch?” Eliot quipped. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table and said, “Oh, I’m definitely listening.”

Quentin laughed, “Oh my god, shut up, please.”

Eliot laughed too. He could admit he was being kind of a little shit, but it was worth it for the blush creeping up on Quentin’s face. He pretended to zip his lips.

Quentin exhaled and looked up at him again. He looked nervous but hopeful. 

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you. About this. I mean, us,” he said.

Eliot’s breath caught in his throat. He thought he’d been ready for this, but now that he was sitting here in front of Q and the words were coming out of his mouth, it was like every nerve in his body was on fire. They weren’t going to be able to take it back once it was out there.

He nodded for Quentin to go on. 

“Okay,” Quentin breathed. “I know you’re going back to LA soon, so I’m not even sure if it matters, but I knew I couldn’t let you leave without telling you that…”

Eliot’s phone rang.

He hated himself for feeling a little bit relieved.

“Sorry,” he apologized. He picked up the phone to look at the caller id and wasn’t surprised at all to see Margo’s name. He said, “I have to take this.”

“It’s okay,” Quentin said quickly, a smile still on his face.

He rubbed his hands on his thighs as he exhaled, seeming to be a little grateful for the break too. Eliot answered the phone.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked, trying for a casual tone.

Margo demanded, “What is taking you so long? The mayor is getting really tired of hearing from Hale’s best friend when the real Hale is standing him up.”

The truth was he’d kind of forgotten about the mayor and Margo and all of it. He’d only been here, hanging on Quentin’s words, for the last several moments. The rest of the world had seemed so far away. It wasn’t actually though.

He sighed, “Yeah, I know, sorry. I’ll be right there.”

He tried very hard to pretend he didn’t see the smile fall off of Q’s face as he hung up.

Quentin asked, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he said, trying to sound as _fine_ as he could. “That was Grandma. She needs help carrying something to her car, and I guess she remembered I was in town. Do you mind if I take just a minute? I’ll be right back.”

The lie fell from his lips effortlessly. He supposed that was a byproduct of living half of your life as a lie though. Maybe he should really consider the implications of that some time other than right now.

“No, yeah, no problem!” Quentin reassured him.

Eliot grinned at him and reached over to squeeze his hand. 

“I’m not running away from this, Q,” he promised. “We’ll talk as soon as I get back.”

Quentin gave him a soft smile and a nod.

“Okay,” he said.

With that, Eliot was out the door and halfway sprinting to the city hall. Margo was waiting for him by the supply closet and ushered him inside as soon as he reached the landing. Luckily, he was used to lightning fast wardrobe changes. He stepped out and paused for Margo to fix his hair.

“Alright, let’s go,” she said.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him upstairs to the room where the dinner was taking place. He caught a sharp glare from Jane as soon as he entered and an eyebrow raise from Fogg, but he ignored both of them to take his place at the table again. There was a large pork tenderloin sandwich on the plate that somehow had sat in front of him. Ah yes, the Indiana delicacy. Eliot hadn’t eaten that particular dish in years, and he had no plans to start now. He started picking at the chips to the side.

“So, Hale, do you do a lot of charity work like this in your career?”

He looked up to see someone, probably the mayor’s secretary, greeting him with a polite smile. It seemed like the kind of thing she would have planned in advance to ask a celebrity, like a journalist interviewing him for a feature piece. The effort was a little endearing if he had the patience for that kind of thing when there was a certain boy waiting for him half a block away.

Jane swooped in like she always did to fill his silence.

She said, “Hale does a lot of philanthropic work. Just last month, he played in a benefit show for CASA.”

There were several nods and noises of approval from around the table.

Her choice of example prickled under his skin just a little bit though. He knew exactly what she was doing; reading the room and adjusting reality accordingly. While CASA was important, it was a PR safe answer. Everyone wanted to help the children, but he knew that show had been scheduled mostly as a way to promote his new album. It wasn’t the cause he chose to dedicate his platform to whenever possible. Suddenly, it felt monumentally important in a way that only sixteen year old Eliot Waugh in the back of his mind could feel to have the truth be spoken here, in this place.

He held his head high and proudly said, “I’m also an ambassador for The Trevor Project, so I do a lot of work with them throughout the year.”

He could feel Jane fretting beside him as the young woman asked, “Oh, what’s that? I’ve never heard of it.”

He explained, “It’s a suicide hotline for LGBTQ youth in crisis.”

A silence settled over the room. He didn’t drop his eye contact as several people looked down at their plates. Finally, the secretary spoke.

She said, “I think that’s really great. Not enough gay kids get the support they need at home.”

His eyes widened as he looked at her. She was giving him what appeared to be a fully genuine smile, and he hadn’t expected that at all. She gave him a small nod before looking back down at her plate. He almost wanted to laugh out loud in relief as he glanced at Margo seated across from him, giving him a very proud look.

Then he caught a glimpse at the clock and realized he’d been gone for nearly ten minutes. 

He cleared his throat and said, “Sorry, could someone tell me where the restroom is?”

A polite older woman told him to take a left in the hallway then it would be three doors down, and he excused himself as quickly as possible. Margo didn’t follow him this time, and he sent her all the grateful vibes he could as he heard her start up a conversation with the mayor. He seriously owed her the biggest favor.

He was down to his Eliot clothes in record time and out the door on the way to the cafe where Quentin was waiting.

The waitress had brought them their food by the time he made it to the little table in the back, and Quentin looked up at him with a bright smile.

“Hey,” he said.

“I’m so sorry for that,” Eliot replied as he sat down. 

“It’s okay,” Quentin said. “How was she?”

“Who?” he asked, before he could catch himself.

“Your grandma?” Quentin repeated. “You said you had to go help her.”

For someone so good at lying, he really could have been better at keeping track of his lies.

“Oh, of course, she’s fine,” he replied smoothly. “She said to tell you hello.”

Nervous energy crackled in the air between them as they fell into a somewhat easy silence after that. It was like a livewire waiting for something to trip it. Quentin was always the brave one though.

“So, before you left, I had something I really wanted to tell you.”

Eliot reached out for his hand across the table, needing some kind of grounding touch before he could say, “I’m listening.”

Quentin took a deep breath and squeezed Eliot’s fingers. He said, “Okay, so, I’ve just been thinking about the last couple of weeks and, we work, right? I mean, it’s weird because I guess I barely know you, but I feel like I’ve known you forever at the same time.”

As possibly Eliot’s oldest friend, Quentin knew him so much better than he could ever begin to guess. It was a little hard to explain all of that though. So, Eliot simply replied, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Quentin continued, “So, I guess what I’m trying to say is…”

Eliot’s phone rang again. 

He looked down at Margo’s name lighting up the screen and sent the call to voicemail. 

“Sorry, go ahead,” he told Quentin.

Quentin pinched his eyebrows together as he glanced at Eliot’s phone then back at him. He asked, “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent,” Eliot replied.

Just as Quentin opened his mouth to keep talking, Eliot caught a glimpse of the most terrifying image he’d ever seen through the window over his shoulder. Margo was storming across the town square, hands clenched into fists at her sides, straight towards the restaurant. If he didn’t do something, and fast, he was going to have a very awkward situation on his hands within the next sixty seconds.

“Q, I’m so sorry, I have to go take care of something,” he apologized.

Quentin kind of glared at him that time, which would have been much more endearing under any other circumstance because being glared at by Quentin was kind of like being glared at by a pissed off kitten.

He said, “Look, El, I know you said you weren’t trying to run away from this, but I kind of feel like that’s exactly what you’re doing right now.” 

“No, it’s not that, I promise,” he begged Quentin to understand. Margo was nearing the door. He looked back at Quentin. “I swear to you that I will be right back.”

Quentin sighed. He said, “Fine, okay.”

“Thank you,” Eliot breathed.

He made it to the door of the cafe and flung it open right before Margo could enter. He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around to walk with him amid her protests.

“What the hell are you doing?!” she asked him. 

He grumbled, “I’m trying to have my first mature relationship.”

“Well, have it some other time then!” she exclaimed. “Jane told me to literally drag you back over here if I had to, and that little blood vessel on Fogg’s forehead is about to pop like a virgin on prom night.”

“I’m sorry,” he exhaled, feeling pure frustration coming out in the words. “This is just hard, okay?”

“What, living a double life?” she quipped. “No shit, it’s hard. I don’t know how you actually do it.”

Eliot was starting to wonder that very thing himself. 

He followed Margo into the city hall building and up the stairs to his storage closet/wardrobe. Each layer he added to reconstruct the Hale persona felt like it weighed a million pounds. He couldn’t get Quentin’s face as he left the cafe out of his mind. He was hurt, and Eliot hated himself for being the cause of it. Just as he finished slipping on his glasses, Margo grabbed his hand to pull him out of the closet and up the stairs. About halfway up the final flight, he reached an abrupt decision.

“Stop,” he said.

Margo sighed theatrically as she turned around to face him, hands on her hips.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m not going back in there,” he said. 

“El, you have to,” she reasoned.

“No,” he said, “I don’t _have_ to do anything, and what I _want_ to do is go apologize to the man I…”

Margo’s expression softened as she took a step down until she was standing on the stair just above him.

“The man you what?” she asked.

He closed his eyes as he swallowed. “I need to go apologize to the man I’m falling in love with and hope that he still wants to give us a chance.”

Margo exhaled heavily as she looked down at him. She reached out her hand to gently rub his arm before dropping it.

“Go,” she said. A light and hopeful feeling came to life in his chest. She said, “I’ll tell Fogg and Jane that you caught a surprise stomach bug or something.”

He leaned forward to press his lips against her forehead. 

“Thank you,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah,” she replied, waving her hand at him. “Just go get your boy.”

He turned and half ran down the flights of stairs. He’d never felt so free in his entire life. It was only when he reached the bottom and caught sight of his reflection that he realized he was still in all of his Hale layers.

“Fuck,” he said.

He started taking off the layers in a hurry, grateful that he’d crafted the outfit so that his base layer was his Eliot clothes. It may have been a disaster of a plan, but he’d really tried to think it through. He was in the middle of pulling back his hair into a bun at the nape of his neck when he heard the front door of the lobby open. 

It took one look over his shoulder for Eliot’s heart to drop into his stomach.

“Q,” he breathed.

Quentin stared at him, still in his glasses and most of his Hale clothes, for a few seconds with his mouth dropped open slightly in surprise. Then he snapped his jaw shut into a tight glare. He turned to leave.

“No, Q, wait!” Eliot called. 

He followed him to the door, grabbing his wrist before he could make it outside. Quentin stopped and whipped around to face him.

“So, this has all been some big joke to you, right?” he accused.

Eliot gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing like he’d forgotten the entirety of the English language. Finally, he managed, “No, I can explain everything. I promise.”

“Explain what?” Quentin asked. “How you’ve been lying to me this whole time? Poor, naive Quentin who was too stupid to see the truth about who you really are? Well, I see it now.”

He laughed humorlessly as he shook his head.

“I wasn’t lying to you,” Eliot replied sincerely.

“You know,” Quentin said, “I was honest with you about how I felt, or I tried to be anyway.”

“I was too,” Eliot’s voice shook, “and I feel the same way.”

“No, you don’t,” Quentin said, “because you don’t lie to people you love.”

Eliot’s jaw practically hit the floor. 

He pleaded, “Q.”

He felt like it might be the only syllable he would ever be capable of saying again. There were so many things he needed to say though. Like how Hale was the lie, not them. How every moment with Quentin had been the most honest he’d ever been. How he wasn’t even sure he’d known who he could be until Quentin had shown him. Those words didn’t come though.

Quentin replied, “No, Eliot, or Hale, or whoever you are. We’re done.”

He jerked his wrist out of Eliot’s hand as he turned to leave. Eliot couldn’t even move to stop him as he let the door slam behind him on his way out. He simply stood there and watched as Quentin walked away.

There was a shuffle behind him, and he turned around to see Margo lingering at the top of the first flight of stairs.

“How much of that did you hear?” he asked her quietly.

“Enough,” she replied.

He stared at her wordlessly as she descended the stairs and walked forward to wrap her arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, muffled into his shirt.

He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head. For the first time in nearly two weeks, going back to LA felt like a good idea.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! I'd like to say here that this fic is my love letter to Eliot, but most fics I write are a love letter to Eliot. This one is just a little extra in that department because it means a lot to me too. Thank you for reading, and feel free to let me know what you think in the comments. Thank you, and stay safe!!

There was something about thunderstorms.

Not just any kind of thunderstorm though. There was something specific about the thunderstorms that happened on the plains in all that open space. The dark clouds stretched out for miles like waves on a restless sea, and when the thunder rolled, it seemed like it would never stop. The day after the mayor’s dinner, Eliot found himself sitting on his grandma’s back porch during one of those kinds of storms. The rain was heavy spilling over the side of the roof, and he could see from the black clouds approaching over the horizon that it wouldn’t be ending any time soon. It was probably just as well. It’s not like he had anything better to do that afternoon.

He leaned back into the cushion at the corner of the old wooden porch swing and stretched out, propping his feet up on the railing of the deck. His guitar was settled in the crease of his hips, but he’d only been halfheartedly strumming the ‘C’ chord for awhile as he stared out across the fields. He’d meant to work on that new song that had been evading him, but not much work had actually been accomplished. Instead, he was just thinking.

Jane and Fogg had taken turns lecturing him after his hasty getaway from the city hall. He knew it had been bad for Hale’s image and everything else Jane said, but he really didn’t give a shit about Hale’s image anymore. At least not here, in Fairmount, Indiana. This town and everyone in it could honestly take their opinions of him and shove it up their asses, for all he cared. It wasn’t his _image_ that had him staring morosely across an empty corn field.

The screen door creaked open behind him, and he sighed as he wrapped his cardigan across his middle and prepared for another round of lectures.

“Thought I might find you out here.”

He looked over his shoulder and was relieved to find his grandma slipping out onto the porch instead. He gave her a small smile before turning back to the fields. She walked across the porch until she could lean her elbows against the railing and follow his gaze.

“You always did like being outside while it was stormin’,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to throw a warm grin at him. “Used to scare me half to death when you were little, but you wouldn’t come in for nothing.”

He looked at her and laughed, almost surprised at the rush of memories prompted by her words. He said, “I remember.”

It was inexplicably weird to have his own past remembered by someone else. He was so used to being the only one who really _knew_ that it felt tender, almost like pressing on a bruise, to hear those fragile memories spoken aloud. For a second, as some kind of conditioned response, it almost felt bad. Those memories were from the part of his life that he had buried for good reason, after all. The kneejerk feeling washed over him and passed though, leaving a strange sort of relief in its wake. He found that it didn’t feel terrible when it settled.

His grandma turned her back to the storm then and leaned against the railing to face him instead, crossing her arms over her chest. For a minute, she just looked at him, and he looked down at his guitar before setting it aside. It’s not like he was really doing anything useful with it.

“You used to be such a happy kid,” she finally said. 

He looked up to see her watching him with a solemn expression. 

He shrugged, “Yeah, well, we all grow up, I guess.”

She frowned at him and tightened her arms across her chest. She said, “You shouldn’t have had to grow up so fast. I just wish I would have seen it sooner because maybe I could have done something before…”

She trailed off, and he exhaled as he pulled himself into an upright position on the porch swing. 

“You didn’t know because they didn’t want you to know,” he told her. 

He meant his parents of course, and they both knew it. 

No one had really known the extent of his upbringing, and it was that way on purpose. He’d hidden all of the boys he kissed until the day his mother had walked in on him with a boy from the baseball team when he was fifteen. Then he’d hidden the bruise under his eye for days after that. 

His parents had given him strict orders to never let anyone find out about his _deviant_ behavior because what would the church community think if they knew? It would ruin his family’s reputation. He didn’t much fancy the idea of spending his summer at conversion camp, so he complied. He’d kept every part of himself a secret until the day he left, and that was when he’d stood at the foot of his bed in this house and came out to his grandmother. 

“It’s true that your parents made their choices, Eliot,” she started, and he looked up at her. She said, “But if I would have been able to make mine back then, I would have told you that you are so loved.”

She choked a little on the last words, and Eliot felt an unbearably tender tug at his heart strings. 

She sniffled as she continued, “You’re perfect just the way you are, and you’ll always be my baby. I know you don’t have very many good memories from this place, but...”

“All of my best memories are because of you,” he told her truthfully. She paused, and he forced a trembling smile on his face as he told her, “Thank you.”

Her lips pressed together in a tight but relieved smile, and she simply nodded at him. It felt like a moment so huge that Eliot wasn’t really sure what to do with it. There was still a not insignificant part of him screaming for him to run away from it all. It wasn’t wholly unfounded after all. The little, broken kid in him was practically begging him to remember and believe that nothing good came from this kind of hope. That it would be better to get out now before it was revealed to be a cruel joke. He couldn’t shut that voice up with one conversation, but he knew now that it could be soothed. The last two weeks had shown him that. So, he took a deep breath as he reached for the only way he really knew how to share how he felt.

“Sing with me?” he asked.

He grabbed his guitar, and his grandma gave him a softer smile. 

“You’ll have to tell me the words,” she said.

“You’ll know them,” he reassured her.

He strummed the first few chords and started an old familiar song.

“ _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_.”

His grandma sang it to him as a lullaby when he was a child, rocking him to sleep in her arms when he was little enough to fit in her lap. Just over a week ago, she’d told him again ‘you’re still my sunshine’, and he thought he probably actually believed that now as she joined in.

“ _You make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away_.”

It was a little thing, but Eliot still felt like a weight was lifted off of his chest when they settled into an easy silence.

After a few moments, she said, “Well, I better go get a start on dinner.”

He nodded at her, knowing she wasn’t brushing off the significance of it. There were just only so many mushy moments that the Waugh’s were equipped to handle. She patted him on the shoulder as she walked by and then paused at the door.

“By the way, Quentin’s a good kid,” she said. “He’ll come around. Just don’t give up on him.”

And in that moment, Eliot knew he absolutely was not going to. He’d let a lot of good things slip through his fingers in his life, but Q was not going to be one of them if he could help it.

“I won’t,” he said.

Then he was left alone again, staring at the fields as it rained, to decide just what he was going to do about that.

The next day was the day of the concert, and it got off to a very unusual start for Eliot.

Specifically, it started with a scream.

“ _ELIOT_!”

Followed by a threat.

“Don’t make me come look for you! These shoes were _not_ cobbled for a farm quest!”

All of that sufficiently startled him from a not particularly restful sleep, which resulted in an even more startling shuffle as he felt himself suddenly falling. He yelped as he scrambled for purchase and began to become aware of his surroundings. 

“What the hell are you doing up there?!”

He grumbled, “Right now? Trying not to fall to my death.”

Margo was standing a few feet away, staring at him with her hands on her hips and trying very poorly not to laugh at him.

“You shouldn’t scare a man who is asleep on top of a fruit stand,” he told her.

She was full on smirking as she asked, “Do I even want to ask why you were asleep on top of a fruit stand?”

She pulled out her phone and took a photo, which prompted Eliot to flip her off. She took a picture of that too.

With only minor difficulty, he managed to find a less precarious perch on top of the shed and leaned back against it to look at her properly.

“I came out here this morning to finish patching up the roof for Q, and I guess I fell asleep,” he admitted.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Quentin was clearly avoiding him, and Eliot didn’t really blame him for it. If Eliot couldn’t talk to him and apologize though, finishing this thing that he cared so very much about seemed like a good start or at least a meaningful way to say goodbye. But he didn’t want to think about that, so, an apology it is.

The amusement slowly disappeared from Margo’s face as she took in what he was saying. She came closer to take a better look at the shed that Eliot was proud to say actually looked rather nice now after all the work they’d put into it.

She asked, “You and Quentin did all this?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, aiming for nonchalance, “he wants to sell peaches and plums out of it.” It felt too much like a closely guarded secret somehow to explain it to her any further. Still, he felt the need to ask, “What do you think?”

She looked up at him.

“Fuck, El. You really do love him, don’t you?”

His gaze darted to the left and then the right of her as she waited patiently. Then he swallowed around his nerves to say, “Are you going to give me shit for it if I say yes?” 

They looked at each other for a long hard moment. Eliot felt like he’d never been more exposed under her gaze, even though this was Margo who knew him better than anyone. 

Finally, she asked, “Do you think it’s… time?”

He exhaled as he looked down at the ground and then back up at her.

“Yeah, I do,” he said.

She nodded once.

“Okay, let’s go get you ready then.”

It was possibly the weirdest show Eliot had ever gotten ready for, and that was including the time he’d done a Halloween show in lizard makeup. There was just something about putting on his entire Hale ensemble to go play at the county fairgrounds in Indiana that made the whole thing feel just slightly unhinged.

The feeling only grew in intensity as he found himself backstage seconds before going on. The word ‘backstage’ made it sound more impressive than it actually was. In reality, he was performing on a wooden outdoor stage that was a fraction of the size of the stadiums he had been booking lately. Jane couldn’t stop raving about how quaint the whole thing was though and how great the _optics_ were. He didn’t even have the heart to summon a quip about how he’d once seen an Elvis impersonator play here, so the quality threshold was actually quite low. Honestly, he was about to cause enough drama without putting his publicist in a bad mood beforehand.

He waited as the mayor introduced him and let himself get lost in the cheers and applause for just a moment. A crowd was a crowd, and he would always get high on that kind of energy. The knowledge that they were there for him along with the anticipation crackling in the air. It was an unmatched brand of adrenaline. 

“Are you ready to go on?”

He turned his head to see the mayor’s secretary from the dinner looking at him expectedly. He supposed she probably got looped into helping out too given that the mayor was somewhat hosting the event.

When he didn’t reply immediately, she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just that Margo asked me to check on you, and she’s a little intimidating, and…”

“Wait,” he interrupted, “how do you know Margo?”

“Oh! I met her at the dinner,” she beamed happily. She held out her hand, “My name is Fen. I’m a big fan, actually.”

He grinned at her as he shook her hand. This was a new development that he was definitely going to have to press Margo about. This cute, skittish little thing was exactly his Bambi’s type when it came to women, which meant that she had been holding out on him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fen,” he said genuinely, “and you can tell Margo that I’m fine.”

“Okay,” she nodded, “I will do that.”

Then she hurried off as someone started talking into her headset, and Eliot laughed. Leave it to Margo.

At the same time his earpiece crackled to life, from the stage, he heard, “Let’s give a big Indiana welcome to Hale!”

That was his cue, and he put on a smile as he jogged through to the stage. The screams swelled around him, and he closed his eyes to soak it in. When he opened them again, he turned around to accept the guitar someone was handing him. 

The crowd, when he really looked at them, was a lot larger than he’d expected. Probably everyone from this town and several neighboring ones had decided to show up and fill the freshly mowed field they were standing in the middle of. That was great news for the fundraiser, but it made it a little difficult for Eliot to locate the faces he was specifically looking for.

His eyes scanned the fray until he finally did see one of them. Margo was standing a few rows from the front grinning at him, and beside her was his grandmother and Todd. Todd looked like he was having the best day of his life, and Eliot had to fight the urge to roll his eyes on principle. He didn’t see anyone else with them though, and he tried to take that as confirmation of what he assumed would happen instead of finding it devastatingly disappointing. It was easier said than done. He cleared his throat as the crew got his mic situated in front of him and glanced down at his guitar to strum the first chord.

He leaned into the mic as the music accompanying his guitar started, and he sang his usual opening song. It wasn’t all that different from any other show, truth be told. Once he closed his eyes and got into the music, he could be anywhere in the world. That was the beauty of his job. It was the best and healthiest way he’d found yet to lose himself.

When the song came to an end, he was fully in the Hale headspace and flew through the rest of his set with ease. It was a success as far as shows go, and the energy of the crowd had him floating on cloud nine. It was only after the final song ended that he allowed himself to drift back into his own skin and actually take stock of it all as the noise faded into background static in his mind.

Margo was still beaming up at him with her knowing and wonderful smile, and he loved her so much it was unreal. His grandmother was next to her, clutching her hand over her heart and biting back a watery smile. He scanned the other faces too, surprised to find that he actually did recognize a few from his and Quentin’s afternoon spent downtown marketing the event. Tom the baker, Stacy the seamstress, Michelle the owner of the pizza place. This wasn’t just any crowd, and it wasn’t going to be just any show. 

His earpiece buzzed to life.

“Alright, Hale, time to come back and set up for your encore.”

He swallowed around the lump forming in his throat and pulled out the earpiece, ignoring the tinny shouts of concern he could hear from where it lay on his collar. Instead, he picked up the mic and handed off his guitar, shooting a mental apology to wherever Jane and Fogg were now.

“I hope you’ve all enjoyed the show,” he said.

The crowd cheered happily, and he grinned. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he laughed. Then he took it all in for one more sweeping look, everything he’d built over the years culminating here in this Indiana field. Only this look revealed something that decidedly had not been there before. Or more specifically, someone. 

Standing next to his family with his arms folded over his chest and a little frown on his lips was Quentin Coldwater. 

Eliot felt his entire pretense fall just like that.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat, “I’m really glad that you all came out to support Fairmount today. I know it means the world to a lot of people, and some of those people mean the world to me.”

His eyes flickered over to his grandmother again, and he spared her a quick smile.

He said, “The truth is though, this isn’t the first time I’ve sang on this stage. The first time that happened, I was seven years old.”

A low murmur spread through the crowd, and he could hear more distressed shouts coming from his earpiece. He was only focused on one face though. Quentin was adjusting his arms as his frown slowly faded into something more akin to surprise.

“I’ve really loved being Hale all these years,” he said, “but it turns out that I can’t do that anymore, not here at least, because...”

He paused and reached for his glasses. He slipped them off and folded them, sticking them in his pocket. Next was his suit jacket which he slipped off and tossed behind him. He and Margo had carefully crafted his look to be versatile enough to supply an easy transformation. Just a few accessories gone and his hair tied back into a bun at his neck, and he suddenly looked nothing like Hale anymore. 

“Because I was just Eliot last time I sang on this stage in my hometown, and I still am,” he finished.

The murmur turned into a collective gasp, and he gripped the mic in his hands tightly and took a deep breath.

He said, “I’ve spent a lot of my life running away from who I am and where I come from, but the truth is I’m ready to stop running and try being brave instead. Someone really important taught me that.”

He finally looked back at Quentin, who was giving him just the beginning of a smile.

He continued, “I hurt that person recently because I was too scared of letting him know the real me, but if it’s not too late, I’d really like a second chance at that now.”

He kept his eyes locked on Quentin’s and felt his own smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched Quentin finally smile at him and laugh in disbelief. 

Then there was the unmistakable sound of a camera’s flash.

He jerked his head down to the bottom of the stage to see none other than Tick Pickwick, famed exposé reporter who had been following him for weeks, standing there taking aim. He snapped another photo.

Eliot’s crew caught on just as quickly as he did, and he saw Jane making her way around the bottom of the stage and Margo pushing through the crowd as Tick darted off in the opposite direction. It was all happening so quickly that Eliot could only take a step forward and shout, “Wait!”

Everyone froze.

“Go ahead and publish your story. I can’t stop you,” he said, “but make sure you get this part too.” He looked up at Quentin again and flashed him a bright smile before saying directly into the mic, “Peaches and plums, motherfucker.”

Quentin laughed delightfully, Tick ran, the crowd descended into mild chaos, and Eliot simply waved to them all as he walked off stage.

Several exhausting lectures and phone calls later found him on the wooden stairs backstage finally sitting in the silent aftermath of what he’d done. The crowd was gone, and the story had already broken across every Hollywood news outlet. Word travels fast when your career is over, he supposed. He knew some part of him should be worrying about that, but Jane was doing enough of that for the both of them as she desperately searched for a way to spin it all in a nice and neat press release. So instead, he let himself just feel it. 

And what he felt was relieved. Maybe for the first time in his life, he truly and honestly felt like the weight of everything he had to be had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Hey.”

The sound of a soft, hesitant voice and a shuffling of feet caught his attention, and he looked up to see Quentin standing in front of him. 

“Hey,” Eliot replied.

Quentin watched him uncertainly for a moment, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt before sighing and dropping his hands.

“So, that happened,” he said.

Eliot laughed quietly. He said, “Yeah, it sure did.”

Quentin smiled at him then and walked forward to sit on the step next to him.

“You know your career as Hale is over,” he pointed out.

Eliot said, “I know.”

“So, what are you gonna do?” Quentin asked him.

Eliot leaned back to rest his elbows on the step behind him and lolled his head to the side to look at Q.

“Well, I can still sing,” he said.

“You can,” Quentin agreed.

“And if that doesn’t work out,” Eliot continued, “I thought I might open up a rival fruit stand here in town. I could sell apples and pears.”

Quentin sputtered out a laugh, his shoulders shaking with the movement of it.

“Oh, really?” he asked.

“Mhm,” Eliot nodded, “then we could have a torrid Capulet and Montague style love affair from across the farmer’s market. We’d be the talk of the town.”

“You know how Romeo and Juliet ends, right?” Quentin asked wryly.

“Yes, Q, but we’re not stupid like them,” he argued.

“Oh, of course not,” Quentin agreed seriously.

They looked at each other for a moment as a silence fell between them. Quentin was worrying his lip between his teeth like he was fighting back whatever was on the tip of his tongue. Then, to Eliot’s surprise, he leaned forward and kissed him instead. 

Eliot sat up and reached out immediately to pull him in with a hand sliding around to the back of his neck, and Quentin wrapped one hand around Eliot’s waist, dropping the other to rest on his knee. Eliot exhaled slowly as he melted into the warmth of Q’s lips and felt him do the same as he went pliant against Eliot. Then, just as quickly as it began, Quentin pulled away again to look at him with a satisfied little smile. Eliot could only wordlessly stare at him, his mouth still gaping in some kind of state of shock that this was actually happening. 

In a quiet yet smug voice, Quentin asked, “You remember that crush I had on you when we were kids? And how I said I was over it?”

Eliot nodded.

“Yeah, I’m so not over it,” Quentin told him.

Eliot reached out and brushed his hair out of his eyes and behind his ear.

“Well thank god for that,” he replied.

They both laughed, and Eliot was practically giddy with the feeling of it all. He wouldn’t have imagined this outcome two weeks prior when he’d stepped off that plane in Indiana, but as he leaned back in to kiss Quentin again, he knew he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always very appreciated! I thrive on validation.


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